Genpuku
by Tairi Soraryu
Summary: Coming of Age. Kenji is on the cusp between boy and man, and with his parents away, he looks to prove himself and gets in over his head. When things go wrong, it's time for the Himura's oldest to fight for his ideals. M for lang
1. Babysitting and Bashing

**Genpuku**

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin.

Welcome to my first published RuroKen fanfic, "Genpuku"! The story is based on events that take place in the manga series rather than the TV anime version and is set years after the end of the manga. For a list of Japanese terms used, please refer to the glossary at the end of the chapter. And, as always, please leave your comments and thoughts! Doomo!

**Chapter One:  
Babysitting and Bashing**

_Begin Part One_**  
**

* * *

Yahiko didn't understand women. 

Males and females were, reputedly, of the same species. They certainly were able to make children together, so it seemed to be a viable theory. But other than having compatible reproductive tracts, that was where the similarities ended, as far as Myoujin Yahiko was concerned.

For instance, Yahiko considered his current situation. For all the complaining and threatening Kaoru did about the way Yahiko treated her children—the boy, Nobuyuki, was almost ten now, and the girl, Hinako, had just turned six—she had no compulsions about asking him to baby-sit. The oldest, Kenji, was fourteen now, nearly an adult, and was old enough not to need a babysitter, per se, but that didn't stop Kaoru from loading Yahiko down with the responsibility of making sure no harm came to him while she and Kenshin were gone.

Not that Kenji didn't need someone to keep an eye on him, Yahiko thought as he herded the two younger children towards the dojo, where sounds of hard practice could be heard through the chilly late winter air. Yahiko certainly cared for the boy; he was as close to a younger brother as Yahiko had ever had, and he had grown up looking to Yahiko as role model and friend. Yahiko could recognize in the young budding swordsman signs of future strength, both physical and internal, a steely willpower and a samurai's fighting spirit, indomitable and proud.

But Yahiko would be damned if sometimes the little brat didn't need a good bashing over the head now and then.

"Whoopsie." Yahiko saw Nobu fall, taking a tumble over his own feet and recovering with a swift grace that would have made a ninja jealous. Before he could ask if the boy was all right, Nobu was back up and running again down the hallway. Yahiko made a mental note to check later for bruises. Kaoru had left her children in his care, and with her and Kenshin due to return any day now, it wouldn't do to let her see any evidence of a lack of diligence on his part, real or imagined.

It didn't matter if boys would always be boys. If Kaoru was under the impression that Yahiko was somehow lacking in his care of her children, there would be hell to pay. And Yahiko would be the one to foot the bill.

"Whoopsie!" True to nature, Hina—sweet little sprite of a child that she was—immediately tried to copy her brother. Yahiko intercepted her before she could land on her head, catching her around the waist and hoisting her, upside-down, suspended midair. "Yahiko-nii!" Her protest was giggly and breathless, and she twisted, trying to free herself, shrieking with joy as he swung her in a fast circle before gently setting her down.

"You scared me, niichan!" Her eyes, blue like Kaoru's sparkled up at him.

"Sorry, Chibi." Yahiko let her take his hand in her dainty one, stooping a little, folding his lanky frame closer to the ground so the little girl didn't have to stretch her arm to reach him. He wrinkled his nose at her playfully. "_You_ scared _me_. What if you had fallen and hurt yourself? Your mommy would kill me if she knew I let you be injured!"

Hina beamed up at him, gave his hand a squeeze in reassurance. "Don't worry, Yahiko-nii. I'll keep you safe from mommy's raff!" Yahiko had to laugh, as much at her mispronunciation of the intended 'wrath' as at the mental image her words conjured of Hina bravely holding off Kaoru's furious attacks with himself huddled behind her in fear for his life.

They reached the dojo, and Yahiko bowed respectfully before stepping in through the open door. It was cold enough outside that he could see his breath forming clouds in front of his face even now in the middle of the afternoon, but the door was left open nonetheless, for a variety of reasons. Firstly, it was important to train in all types of weather to accustom oneself to ignoring adverse conditions and concentrate on the fight at hand. But more importantly, nobody wanted to be trapped in an enclosed space with almost two dozen men and boys sweating profusely beneath the sturdy armor they wore during practice sessions.

Practice was already in full swing as Yahiko entered the room, and, while he felt guilty for not having been able to attend the beginning of the session, it was good to see that class could run even without him there to take command. His students were coming along nicely, and he eyed form and posture critically, automatically calling out corrections even as he led HIna by the hand to the cushioned seats along the wall where Nobu had already seated himself, watching the practice with wide-eyed enthusiasm. He had just begun practice himself, and he eagerly drank in the techniques and styles he saw before him to be assimilated for his own one-on-one practice with Yahiko after the other, more advanced, students left.

Kaoru had handed over the day-to-day running of classes to Yahiko years ago, probably soon after she'd become pregnant with Hina. She still taught, of course, and—it was hard to admit—could still beat Yahiko three or four times out of five when they faced off against each other. But, for all intents and purposes, Yahiko handled teaching and Kaoru ran the dojo. She was a lot better than he was at keeping the place organized and running, balancing finances and scheduling classes and the like. Kenshin was useless when it came to numbers, perhaps the one thing in life where he couldn't beat them one-handed and blind-folded, so it was Kaoru who made sure that expenses never exceeded income, and the dojo was, as a result, always in good standing.

Yahiko's experienced eye scanned the students practicing in full armor, faces obscured by the metal face mask of the helmet. He picked Kenji out easily from among the others and paused in putting on his own armor before joining the practice. Kenji was a natural for the sword, that was no surprise, given his lineage, and his form was good—very good, in fact. His strikes consistently made the target, and his footwork never faltered. He was fast, controlled, and fearless.

And yet…

Yahiko's eyes narrowed as he tugged the last ties into a secure knot and checked to make sure his armor was fasted tightly before standing and pulling his favorite shinai off its space from the rack on the wall. There was something about the Himura's eldest son that just…rubbed him wrong. It was something he noticed most specifically during practice, but Yahiko couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Shrugging off the sensation, Yahiko lined up with the students, across from one of the new beginners, and let the head student call out the instructions for the next exercise.

They rotated partners often, but Yahiko stayed where he was and had the students move around him, not because he was sensei or anything, but because that way he was right there if Nobu or Hina needed anything or if something came up and required him to bow out in the middle of practice. He was aware, on the edge of his consciousness, when Tsubame came in on silent feet to sit with the children. Her presence was a quiet one, but it sang through his senses with an intensity no less overpowering for all its familiarity. But since she was there, watching Hina and Nobu, Yahiko was able to dedicate his full attention to the practice.

The time wore on, and the last rotation of the session found Yahiko crossing bamboo blades with Kenji. The teen wasn't what one could consider tall; his eyes were level with Yahiko's shoulder, but there was room yet for growth, both in height and in muscle mass. Yahiko doubted the boy would gain much in either respect, but already there was a fierceness in his amethyst gaze that spoke of his hard determination to win.

"Hajime!" The cry rang out, and the matches began.

Kenji was more than even 'very good', and Yahiko felt his blood rise at the challenge. Without conceit, Yahiko knew he was a good swordsman, one of the best in the region with shinai, bokken, or sakabatou. Kenshin, though he'd long since given up sword fighting, could probably still defeat him without much effort. Kaoru, too, was better than he. But Kenji…Kenji was one of the very few against whom Yahiko didn't have to hold back.

But there was that _something_ again. Part of Yahiko's mind, the detached part that watched the math dispassionately, could see it in every move Kenji made. Even as he attacked, blocked, and counterattacked with the ease borne of years of training, his mind sought to identify that…something.

_Try this,_ his mind whispered, and Yahiko deliberately let his guard falter almost imperceptibly, let Kenji slip in and land a glancing blow to his leather-protected wrist.

_There._ Yahiko finally labeled that previously unidentifiable something that had been nagging at him for weeks.

Part of him scoffed at himself for his lateness in identifying what it was. Yahiko was often accused of the same, so why had it taken him so long to realize what it what Kenji suffered from was _arrogance_?

Now that he knew what it was, the signs were obvious. Yahiko squared off against Kenji one last time, knowing the other pairs had sang since stopped to watch them. Cockiness infused Kenji's ki—his spirit, his aura—all but oozed out of him.

Oh, yes, Yahiko thought, and allowed himself one feral smile of triumph as he leapt in with a roar, closing the distance with a speed that was almost unnatural.

Kenji was good, very good.

But he was better!

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Yahiko's roar—that's what it was, ferocious, fierce, ripping deep out of his gut to shake the rafters—resounded through the dojo the same instant his shinai came crashing down on Kenji's head with perfect control—a exact hit. Only dimly was Kenji aware that he was weaponless; just milliseconds before had Yahiko launched into motion, using his shinai to disarm Kenji with a move too fast to follow, sending his sword flying out of his hands and leaving him defenseless and open to attack.

Kenji met Yahiko's gaze through their masks and read not gloating, not victory, not even the sort of satisfaction Kenji had been half-expecting. Completely disarming your opponent was one of the most lived-for moments in kenjutsu; sending their weapon crashing into the opposing wall was to die for.

But Kenji read nothing but pure concentration on his older brother, friend, and sensei's face. Concentration, and danger, Kenji realized as Yahiko moved back, then bowed to finish their match. Kenji responded in kind unthinkingly, confused by the look—the threat—he'd read in Yahiko's eyes.

Because, sure as his name was Himura Kenji, there had been a definite warning in Yahiko's hard brown gaze.

The confusion kept most of his embarrassment at having been so thoroughly defeated at bay as he removed his armor, put his equipment away, said good-bye to the other students. Tsubame—he'd seen her enter—had left, taking with her Nobu and Hina. She'd probably gone to prep the bath for him and Yahiko before saying good-bye to the students at the front gate. An affectionate smile touched Kenji's serious face as he thought of the woman who was both aunt and sister to him. She still worked at the Akabeko, though with her husband's salary, it wasn't strictly necessary for her to keep the job, and her training as first waitress, and now hostess, of the popular restaurant showed.

"Good fight."

Startled, Kenji roused himself from his thoughts to find he and Yahiko were the last two left in the dojo. The older swordsman was wiping at the sweat on his face with the thin towel they used to tie around their heads under the helmet to soak up the sweat before it dripped into their eyes and rendered them useless in the fight. Yahiko was standing over him, looking down at him, his gaze serious and strangely forbidding.

"You've got excellent reflexes," Yahiko said, but Kenji knew there was more to be said than just the compliment; he could practically hear the silent 'but' at the end of the sentence. "And the timing of your techniques is beautiful. But—" _Here it is,_ Kenji thought, with a touch of sourness, as he braced himself for the criticism. "—you're overconfident and arrogant. And that arrogance is what made you lose today."

Yes, Yahiko thought, tiredly, as he turned and left Kenji speechless and stunned, alone on the dojo floor. There were certainly times when Kenji could use a good bash over the head, and it was just too bad that Yahiko had to be the one to do the bashing.

* * *

Written: 7.17.06 

Author's Notes: One note on the title of this fic…Genpuku refers to the old practice of "coming-of-age" for men before the Meiji Era. At age fifteen, a boy became a man. In the manga series, for Yahiko this comes when he 'inherits' the sakabatou from Kenshin; for Kenshin, this comes sometime after he met Tomoe but before she died.

And one note of clarification regarding the kenjutsu practice scene described in this chapter…For those of you who have never seen a modern-day kendo practitioner in full bogu (armor), the descriptions of what they are wearing are perhaps a bit hard to imagine. The 'helmet', as it were, consists of two thickly-padded cloth flaps that extend over the shoulders and a metal face-mask that protects the wearers from inaccurate hits. Beneath the helmet they wrap their heads with a tennugui, or 'towel' made of thin cloth, to keep the sweat out of their eyes. Other pieces of armor include a 'do', which protects the torso and chest, a 'tare', which protects the hips and groin area, and 'kote', which are leather-and-cloth gloves to protect the wrists. Kaoru and Yahiko both have suits of armor, which are worn in the early books of the manga but are never shown in the anime series. The armor worn in practice is similar to that worn in battle by the warriors (shown in various scenes during both anime and manga series). It is fastened by tying ties, as commodities such as Velcro, buttons, and zippers weren't invented until much later. )

Sorry for the length of the author's notes! In the future I hope they will be much, much shorter. Thank you for bearing with me!

_Glossary (in alphabetical order):  
Bokken: all-wood sword used in practice; not used to connect with another person during practice  
Chibi: roughly means "small one", used here as an affectionate nickname. Can be used as an insult (especially when directed towards a boy)  
Hajime: "begin", used in practice to indicate to both participants when the match starts  
Kenjutsu: sword fighting  
Ki: "spirit" or "aura"  
-nii: an affectionate suffix for an older brother  
Niichan: "older brother", used here as an indication of the closeness between Yahiko and the Himura's children  
Sakabatou: Kenshin's reverse-blade sword  
Sensei: "teacher"  
Shinai: bamboo sword used in practice; can be used for full-contact with an opponent_


	2. Kamiya Dojo : Early Morning

**Genpuku**

Welcome back, brave souls who can't get enough pain and punishment!

…It has just come to my attention that the timeline of my story mirrors that of the OVA "Seisouhen". I protest that my idea is _original_, and I in no way or fashion wish to copy the OVA. I apologize for any parallels or similarities and profess that any such likenesses are due to coincidence only. As they say, great minds think alike! ) Thanks to **LadyDevilBlessed** for bringing this to my attention.

**Chapter Two:  
Kamiya Dojo – Early Morning**

* * *

Tsubame loved Yahiko. 

She loved everything about him, from his unfaltering dedication to kenjutsu to his rock-steady reliability, from his bright, boyish grin to the way he tied his hakama in the morning, his gaze fixed straight ahead, his fingers moving deftly over the knots. She loved his spiky black hair, the way it lent him a youthful and rough-and-ready air; she loved his eyes, like rich mahogany, the way they spoke of maturity despite his hair, the way they sparkled when he laughed, that deep, from-the-gut laugh that she loved.

Most of all, though, she loved him because he loved her.

It amazed her, constantly, that he did, loved her enough to marry her, to be faithful to her even after they'd discovered she couldn't have children.

Not, of course, that Tsubame had ever thought Yahiko would be anything less than undyingly faithful in any aspect of his life.

Not, of course, that it was certain that she was the one who was infertile. Genzai-sensei hadn't been able to determine which one of them was unable to produce children, though it was almost undoubtedly due to injuries one or the other had sustained as children—Tsubame from the beatings she'd received from Mikio-sama before Yahiko and Kenshin had rescued her; Yahiko from the yakuza or from the various fights he'd engaged in after being 'adopted', as it were, by Kenshin and Kaoru.

And not, Tsubame thought as she blushed furiously, of course, that that meant that they didn't _act_ like they were trying to conceive, as often as humanly possible.

Yahiko paused in the middle of dressing and glanced over at where his wife lay, the covers of the futon pulled protectively up under her chin against both the early morning chill and his unabashed perusal. They'd been married over seven years now—Yahiko was proud he didn't have to stop to think and count how long it had been—and yet she was still so modest, so shy, about him looking at her naked.

She was lovely when she was naked, Yahiko knew, and the fact that she strove so hard to keep that loveliness covered only made it more worth the effort to expose that loveliness whenever the opportunity arose.

"You're cute when you blush."

The observation, made so casually, caught Tsubame by surprise, and her eyes widened, the blush deepening on her cheeks. She brought the sheet up over her mouth and nose in an attempt to hide the obvious evidence of her embarrassed pleasure at the compliment, but her eyes gave her away.

And besides…"You're even cuter when you hide like that."

She let out a small squeak, a mixture of embarrassment and delight at his unabashed expression of his affection, and pulled the blankets higher, hiding her face entirely so only the top of her head, her hair mussed from sleep, peeked out.

She squeaked again when Yahiko knelt beside the bed, tugging the blankets down so he could see her face, smiling gently as love swamped him, as it so often did. Kami-sama, did he love her.

And he told her so, too.

"Love you," he murmured, and his mouth gently covered hers, the kiss sweet, tenderly so, and warm, so that it flowed through both their bodies, until Yahiko could feel that soft glow down to his toes.

"Mmm." Tsubame purred it, contented, and lifted wickedly innocent eyes to his face. She reached out one hand to stroke her fingers lovingly over the curve of one cheek. "You could come back to bed and show me again how much you love me," she invited coyly.

Yahiko had to stifle a groan, mixed with a strangled half-laugh. It was a groan of pure lust that clenched in his gut, and, more significantly, a bit lower as well. Bashful as she seemed, his charming little Tsubame wasn't so innocent as she let herself be perceived. There was devilment dancing in those eyes of hers, but her smile was all sweetness, and her words were a promise begging to be fulfilled.

"Or this time…I could show you how much _I_ love _you_."

"That's so mean," Yahiko didn't hold back the groan this time, and he rested his forehead against hers, trying to ignore the tingling sensation growing stronger and definitely more localized. "You could just tempt me to death, you know that?" His grin was lopsided, and rueful, and he had to lean back in self-preservation before her mouth, eagerly seeking his, succeeded in distracting him. "I'd love to, Tsubame-chan, but I can't."

She wrinkled her nose in protest but subsided, watching him as he rocked back on his heels and finished with the last of his hakama ties. "I have an early start today. Chief Uramura asked me to act as an escort for some ambassador type coming through this morning, and I've got my beginners' class right after lunch."

Like Kenshin had, Yahiko occasionally did jobs for the police chief, acting as an armed guard for those high-level officials who came through often enough to add a nice bonus to their regular annual income. Kenshin rarely took jobs now, and when he did, he had to have extenuating circumstances, and even then he accepted only if Yahiko were there as well. With Megumi's warning still fresh in all of their minds—Kenshin _could not_ use Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu unless he was willing to sacrifice his life for the techniques that drained him of more than he could survive—Kenshin made sure to take care of himself.

He and Yahiko were alike, in some ways. Kenshin didn't want Kaoru to kill him, either.

"Well then." Tsubame's voice was practical as she reached out for the yukata she wore to sleep, which Yahiko had discarded onto the tatami mat beside their futon and had slipped it on practically before Yahiko could register the fact that she'd stood, for one brief moment, naked before him. "I'd better get up, too, then." Cursing his slowness, Yahiko got to his feet as well and turned to leave and start breakfast while Tsubame did whatever it was females did in the morning to prepare for the day ahead.

He was completely caught off-guard when Tsubame's hand shot out as he turned, fisting in his collar and dragging him to her for a kiss that left him hot and bothered and breathless. She bit his bottom lip lightly, flicked her tongue over it, and winked at him. "I guess I can wait, then, if I have to. Maybe I'll show you how much I love you tonight, Yahiko-kun, when it's just you and me in the dark."

She was giggling as she shooed him out of the room so she could dress, shutting the shoji-screen door firmly between them. The bite of the predawn winter air did much to relieve Yahiko of certain…physical discomfort.

But he was grinning, and planning, as he headed down the hall to the kitchen.

He'd have some free time between his afternoon class and dinner. If he could just get Kenji to watch the younger kids for a bit, then he'd have Tsubame all to himself, and they could both show the other how much they loved each other.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Tsubame tidied up the bedroom first, trying to put off the inevitable need to go out of the relative warmth of the room and to the bath so she could clean herself up before she dressed. It was one of those unfortunate downfalls of morning loving, that she had to make sure to wash herself before getting dressed, but it was one she could happily put up with, and she didn't mind, really. She folded the futon with neat movements, a smile lingering on her lips, then brushed her hair in front of the small mirror, giving herself time to prepare herself mentally for the icy shock to come as she stepped out of the room.

Her thoughts wandered.

She had been married over seven years now to Yahiko, and knew he loved her with an unwavering, single-minded fierceness that hadn't dimmed the least since the day they had exchanged vows that late spring afternoon so long ago. At the same time, it felt like only last week, the memory so fresh in her mind. But even though he loved her—sometimes Tsubame had to think it was _because_ he loved her so—Tsubame knew where she stood in his priorities.

And she wasn't first.

There was no hurt, no resentment in Tsubame's thoughts as she pulled on one of Yahiko's thick, winter-weight haori over her yukata to keep off the chill as she walked to the bath. After the first, hissing intake of breath as the frosty air slid over her skin, Tsubame let her thoughts drift back again. Yahiko would rather die than let her be hurt or suffer, but if it came down to her or innocent people…well, she'd never asked, would never ask, would never put him in the position of having to answer, and he had never said it aloud, but Tsubame knew.

You didn't fall in love with a warrior and then expect him to give up that sense of honor, or else why did you fall in love with him in the first place?

She had to take things with humor. How else could you handle your husband taking off from his own wedding, dressed in his best gi and hakama, to fight some lunatic who'd escaped from jail? At least, she'd joked at the time, at least said lunatic had waited until _after_ they finished the ceremony to escape.

IT had been hard to keep up that humor when he had come home early the next morning, bruised and bleeding, with one shoulder dislocated. They hadn't even slept in the same futon for a week, until his wounds had healed and there was no danger of either one rolling into the other during the night and reopening his injuries.

He'd made it up to her for making her wait, though, and when Yahiko made up, he did so with the same one-minded focus with which he applied himself to any task.

For all those reasons, and more, Tsubame adored him.

There was movement in the room Hina and Nobu shared as she passed on her way back to the bedroom, and Tsubame knocked lightly before entering.

"Ohayou, Hina-chan." The little girl was sitting up in her bed, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Tsubame couldn't help but feel that usual pang of absolute adoration mixed with wistful longing as she knelt beside the small child. How she envied Kaoru-san at times for being able to have carried something so precious into this world, raising her, nurturing her, loving her. Tsubame knew she would never experience that miracle of pregnancy, of feeling her child grow within her; of birth, of holding her child in her arms for the first time. But that, too, was partially her choice. Genzai-sensei had told her there was an option to determine if she were infertile, or if Yahiko was.

If she were intimate with another man, and became pregnant…

_She had refused without even hearing the doctor out. "Genzai-sensei!" Tsubame stood up so fast she knocked over the stool where she'd been seated. Her limbs were trembling with astonished…astonished _horror,_ yes, horror, that he would even suggest such a thing. "How could…How could you say something like that to me?"_

_He had regarded her with calm, completely serious eyes and continued, unperturbed by her outburst. "Of course, Yahiko-kun doesn't need to know that he's not the father of the child, should you choose not to tell him, and I will follow your discretion in this matter. You would not be the only mother to opt for this choice; you would be surprised, I think, to know how many women doubt their husband's fertility and choose to seek their child's father somewhere else. This choice isn't foolproof, however; if you are the one who is unable to bear children, then…" His thin shoulders, hunched slightly with age, moved, and those eyes, so kind, held hers in a merciless sort of hypnotism. "The reverse is always possible, too."_

_She had blinked at him, for a moment not comprehending the implications of the doctor's words. Then she blinked again, and felt her jaw drop as she stared at him in full understanding. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and her voice shook with indignation. "Genzai-sensei, I respect you very much, and I know…I _trust_ you are only thinking of my best interest. But if you think that I could, even for the chance of having a baby, betray Yahiko-kun's trust like that…If I ever do have a baby, it will be Yahiko-kun's! I won't lie to him or pretend otherwise."_

Remembering it all now, Tsubame sighed inwardly. Her words had been the truth. It didn't matter if she never had children. If she didn't have them with Yahiko, she wasn't going to try to have at all. And she certainly wasn't going to ask him to conceive a child with some other woman, and then try to pass off that child as her own! Besides, it was better this way, not knowing who couldn't have children. It was better than knowing definitively one way or the other. Not that that part mattered much, but…

It was a real shame, though. Tsubame had delighted in seeing Kenshin-san melt over his little girl, in seeing Yahiko slip so naturally into the role of protective older brother/adoring uncle. It would have been something to see him be a father himself…

Hina was watching her oddly, and Tsubame realized she had lapsed into silence. She offered the little girl a reassuring smile. "Sorry. Just thinking. Why are you up so early, Hina-chan? Is everything all right?"

The little girl blinked, her sapphire eyes for a moment holding a look too solemn for a child her age. It was the same look her father sometimes got, a look of someone who knew too much and understood it all. But then it was gone, and she smiled shyly up at Tsubame. "Neechan. I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd help Yahiko-nii make breakfast! Is that why you're up, too?"

She was so sweet, so innocent…Tsubame smiled. "Something like that. Here, I'll help you get dressed, okay?"

Through the entire whispered exchange, Nobu had slept in his futon laid out beside his sister's. Soundly. Rock-like. Tsubame wondered how the child of two such proficient sword fighters could be so…oblivious. He'd tossed the blankets crooked sometime during the night, and Tsubame carefully tucked him back in before slipping silently out of the room with Hina.

As the shoji door slid shut, Nobu's lips curved into a grin. A good samurai knew how to fool his opponents, and even those less hostile to him.

Nobu had plans to be a great samurai!

* * *

Written: 7.18.06  
Edited: 7.19.06 (thanks to **Toastyann** for catching the mistake!)

Author's Notes: My glossary is by no means an exhaustive description of the terms used; I include it as a means of explanation for those unfamiliar with the Japanese. While I try not to use too much of the original Japanese terminology, I feel that sometimes the English translations fall pitifully short of encompassing the connotations and imagery.

This fic is mainly Yahiko/Tsubame (as you can probably tell), and I no intentions of pairing Kenji up with anyone, OC or otherwise. Kenshin and Kaoru probably will play a (minor) role in future chapters, though I figure most of the action will revolve around Yahiko and Kenji. Thank you for reading!

_Glossary (in alphabetical order):  
-chan: affectionate suffix for children and girls  
Futon: traditional Japanese bedding, laid out on the floor and put away during the daytime  
Gi: traditional Japanese shirt, open in front with the left side crossed over the right  
Hakama: traditional Japanese pants, held up by long ties tied around the wearer's waist  
Haori: traditional Japanese overcoat  
Kami-sama: "God"  
Kenjutsu: sword fighting  
-kun: affectionate suffix for males  
Neechan: "older sister"  
-nii: an affectionate suffix for an older brother  
Ohayou: "good morning", casually  
-san: polite suffix; "Mr./Mrs./Ms."  
Sensei: (Genzai-sensei); "doctor"  
Shoji: rice paper screen  
Tatami: traditional Japanese floor boards  
Yukata: thin cotton robe, plainer than a kimono_


	3. Breakfast at Yahiko's

**Genpuku**

Thank you to everyone who has left me reviews so far! Your compliments, helpful criticism, and interesting tidbits of information are truly appreciated.

**Chapter Three:  
Breakfast at Yahiko's**

* * *

The tantalizing scents of miso soup and grilling fish filtered through the shoji paneled door to his room from the direction of the kitchen, and his stomach rumbled in anticipation. Kaoru's cooking had gotten better over the years, and Kenshin was a decent cook himself, but neither could compare with Yahiko. The twenty-six-year-old swordsman was nothing less than an absolute culinary genius. And when he and Tsubame cooked together…It was enough to have saliva pooling in his mouth from just the imagining.

Kenji resisted the growing need to get up and go out to assuage his hunger, rolling over onto his back and gazing up at the ceiling overhead. Yahiko's words rang in his ears, sharp and stinging, as they had all night long.

"_You're overconfident and arrogant. And that arrogance is what made you lose…"_

"I'm not arrogant," Kenji muttered defiantly to the empty room, as if the small writing desk in the corner and his clothes rack against the far wall could hear and would agree. "I'm _not_." He hated that his voice sounded petulant, even to his own ears, and he pressed his lips shut, refusing to give in to the childish urge to whine. He was fourteen now, almost a man by the old standards—by his father's standards, unspoken that they were—and he struggled to comport himself accordingly.

Kenji was proud, proud of his heritage as son of the era's strongest swordsman, who fought for the happiness of the people with his reversely bladed sword and the only female head of a kenjutsu dojo in all of eastern Japan. He had a name to honor, a family—parents—to make proud, and he knew he was good enough to bear the name of Himura, good enough to one day become a master of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu. He was confident he would one day be a man strong enough to stand at his father's side, to have his trust because he'd earned it and had proved he deserved it.

Like Yahiko did.

Kenji struggled not to resent the black-haired man. Yahiko was as much best friend and confidant as brother and sensei, but for that very reason, it made it difficult to accept criticism Kenji knew, rationally, had been made in his best interest. If he could overcome this flaw, as he had corrected everything else Yahiko had pointed out to him—his on-guard stance too high, his back foot moving too late, his focus scattered when he hit—then he truly would become a man worthy of his father's praise.

The student in him knew to bow to sensei and accept the criticism stoically and train harder to correct his flaws.

The younger brother wanted to launch himself at Yahiko and beat him bloody with his bare fists to soothe his pride.

"Arghhh…" The aggravated groan slipped from between clenched teeth and epitomized just how he felt. How could he correct something that just wasn't there? He knew—Yahiko knew—any kenjutsu student knew—that to win a fight, you had to be of the mindset that you were going to win. Thinking you weren't going to win, worrying about if you were going to win or lose, only put you that much closer to losing in the first place.

Kenji sighed, a long, loud exhale of breath designed to expel all the pent-up frustrations and make him feel better. It succeeded—marginally—and with effort he focused his mind elsewhere. His thoughts turned to the day's plans. Today was Thursday. He'd probably go into town with Tsubame in the morning to help carry the day's groceries, then there was Yahiko's beginner class in the afternoon. His brother Nobu was the star pupil of the session, even at age nine—and since Yahiko had to focus on teaching, Kenji would probably be stuck watching his sister. Hina was adorable, undeniably, but she could be a handful.

His dad had often laughed when confronted with the little girl's capriciousness, her feisty spirit. "Like mother, like daughter," he'd say with that indulgent, chagrined, utterly self-defacing grin he was so good at he could have invented. Kaoru usually found offense in that, something materializing in her hand—shinai, wooden spoon, once, even, an especially large daikon Tsubame-nee had brought over to use in their cooking—to bash over Kenshin's skull.

Dad took beatings well, Kenji thought with an amused snicker as he recalled the nearly countless number of times Kaoru had taken it to him. He only ever lost to Mom—well, and Hina—but he did so with such…poise. And silliness. Kenji was adult enough to understand the teasing violence was his mother's way of showing her affection; Kenshin's helpless utterances of "oro" and, more comically, "ooorororoooo" were more to make his wife laugh than out of actual pain.

"Be more like Dad," Kenji told himself, and laughed. Humor helped. Gritting his teeth, he tossed back the covers, shivering at the sudden loss of warmth, and hastened to get up and get dressed more appropriately in an undershirt and thick dark green gi under his worn black hakama.

Even as he laughed, though, Kenji had to think with no little awe about his father. He was sure KEnshin had had more than his fair share of brutal practice sessions and scathing comments when _he_ was learning kenjutsu. They called him Ojiichan, but Kenji could see that Hiko Seijurou would have been one hell of a teacher.

There was a light knock on the wooden frame of his door, and Yahiko's voice called, "Good morning, Kenji. You awake?"

"Yeah." The door slid open, and Kenji had to squint against the wash of early morning light that case Yahiko in dark relief. "Sorry I'm late getting up."

Yahiko stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him for what little protection it offered against the winter's chill. "Rough night?" There was teasing in his voice, and Kenji had to grin. It was common practice for the dojo students to get together and go out on the town at night and get drunk. When his parents had left for Kyoto the week after New Year's, Kaoru had—unfairly and unnecessarily, in Kenji's opinion—left Yahiko with express instructions not to let Kenji join in their revelry.

Yahiko trusted Kenji, and he never missed a chance to poke a little fun at Kaoru behind her back for her baseless worries. He didn't miss a chance to make fun of Kaoru in front of her face, for that matter, so he had no inhibitions about doing so when she wasn't around to defend herself.

Kenji made a face and pressed one hand to his forehead, the other to his gut, in mock symptoms of being hung over. "Unghh. Man, last night was a _blast_. I was sooo wasted."

Snickering, Yahiko said in mock sympathy, his face a mask of perfect solicitude, "Poor baby. Here, you take it easy; I'll go ask Tsubame to make you a bowl of plain rice porridge and some of that lovely herbal tea to help soothe your stomach…"

"Ew." Kenji couldn't help but laugh, giving up the pretense of being ill. Tae-san from the Akabeko had given them for New Year's strange, Western-style tea leaves. It was nothing like the ocha they had all grown up drinking, and the odd tin can filled with bitter and rather unappetizing dry leaves now had a venerated—and hard to reach, out of the way—spot on the upper kitchen shelf. "That would just make me feel worse!"

Yahiko grinned. "Me too. Anyway," he added, joking aside, "breakfast is ready, so come on out when you're finished." He waved a hand in the air in indication of the futon still out on the floor and the state of Kenji's hair, then added, "I'm headed into town with Tsubame when she goes to do the shopping after breakfast, and she's walking me to the police station. She has to buy rice and more soy sauce, though, so if you're free this morning, it'd be great if you could come along and help carry the stuff home."

"Sure." Kenji had forgotten about Yahiko having that police job this morning. He usually accompanied Tsubame into town to haul all the heavy groceries, but it was a chore Kenji didn't really mind all that much. Yahiko turned to leave and return to breakfast, and Kenji had a good view of the small kanji for "evil" written on the back of his collar. "I'll be out in a couple minutes."

Yahiko nodded and waved a hand over his shoulder without looking back, the door rasping quietly shut. In the ensuing silence, Kenji's stomach growled noisily, and he hastily tidied up his room and hastened down the hall to where the cheery noises of a family breakfast could be heard.

The siren's scent of food was stranger here, and Kenji returned the chorus of greetings as he sat down between Tsubame and Nobu, inhaling the delectable smells greedily. Tsubame was serving rice to go with the grilled fish already set at each place in the small circle where they sat. Bowls of miso soup, swirling with seaweed and bites of tofu and those squishy, melt-in-your-mouth flower-shaped things whose name Kenji had never known, steamed heartily into the air. The small charcoal-burning heater kept the worst of the chill at bay, but with the warmth of family, Kenji barely registered the cold air at all.

There was soup and fish, rice and vegetables, and Kenji couldn't help but grin at his good fortune. The Meiji Era was bringing some rapid changes to the world, and he knew that, all around him, Westernization was spreading faster almost than the people could keep up with. But here, in the early morning at the Kamiya Dojo, life was much the way it had been for decades, a small, secure pocket of the past preserved against the flow of time.

"Ken-nii?" Hina was leaning in front of Nobu, all but lying tummy-down in his lap, as she tugged insistently on Kenji's sleeve. Satisfied when he turned his gaze to her, she asked, "Are you coming shopping with us? Will you carry me on your shoulders when Yahiko-nii leaves? I don't want my new kimono to get dirty." The dirt roads did have a tendency to splash up mud onto the hem of their clothes, no matter how carefully the children walked, and Hina's kimono was especially pretty that day. It was white with light blue designs, something like snowflakes or small flowers decorating the sleeves and hem, with a daring red obi tied around her small waist in sharp contrast.

"Of course I'll carry you, Chibi." Kenji had long ago adopted Yahiko's nickname for his youngest sibling. He tapped a finger against her nose and set her giggling. "We wouldn't want to ruin such a pretty kimono, would we? Now sit up, Hina, you're getting in Nobu's way."

Nobu's serious face moved into innocent lines as he acted swiftly, reaching for his rice bowl and propping his elbow on Hina's back, trapping her where she was. "Who, me? Nobody's in my way, but thanks for the concern, Kenji." Caught, HIna shrieked with laughter, squirming in a futile effort to free herself. Nobu kept his face straight, but his eyes danced with mirth as he looked at his older brother. "I don't even see anyone in my way. I just have this nice elbow rest. Oh—hey. Where'd Hina go?"

"_Niichan!_" Hina was breathless with joy, obviously adoring this game with her brother. She and Nobu were closer in age than Nobu and Kenji were, and their closeness was apparent. "I'm right here!"

Nobu set down his food and let Hina up, and the smile finally broke through his normally taciturn face as she stood, hands on her hips, puffed up with all the righteous indignation of a six-year-old and looking for all the world like an angry little chick. "You used me as a table!"

"That I did, didn't I?" His eyes teased, but his voice was apologetic as he accepted her accusation without protest. "I'll make it up to you. How does that sound, eh?" He cajoled and flattered, and had soon promised to play princess and dragon, her favorite make-believe game, with her that afternoon. Hina was delighted, returning to her breakfast, and the rest of them had a good laugh together.

Breakfast over, Kenji and Nobu washed the dishes—part of their daily household chores—while Hina 'helped' Tsubame make lunch for Yahiko. "Yahiko-kun is working hard today," Tsubame had said with a laugh, "so we get to play! Let's splurge and eat out today." Her announcement brought cheers from the boys as they immediately launched into a debate of where to eat, with Hina clamoring to add her opinion to the discussion.

"There." Tsubame lovingly wrapped the last of the onigiri with a sheet of seaweed and placed it alongside the others in the small wooden bento box for Yahiko to carry with him. Hina peered at the row of nearly identical, perfectly-shaped triangular rice balls, and Tsubame smiled gently at her. "Yahiko-kun likes the salmon kind best, but we have lots here. Do you think he'll like them?"

Hina nodded wisely and spoke with heartfelt conviction. "He will! Because we spent time and love making them! Do you think he'll know which one I made?"

The lopsided, oddly-shaped onigiri stuck out as conspicuously as Mt. Fuji did against the surrounding landscape. Tsubame smiled secretly and winked at Hina. "Oh, he will! Yours is made with the most love of all!"

Yahiko popped his head around the doorway to the kitchen, the sakabatou belted securely at his hip. Leather wrist guards showed dark beneath his long sleeves, a safety precaution he took on these police jobs. They were the only protection he wore, however, and they were only half to protect against enemy attacks.

They were half to minimize overstraining on his part, too.

Yahiko fought using the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu style, but, as he'd explained to Tsubame years before, when he'd accepted the first of many requests to assist the police, he often employed a couple of Kenshin's techniques he'd picked up by watching. They were illegitimate in everyday practice, but they were definitely handy when it came to stopping bad guys.

"_But," Yahiko had admitted with a wry smile, "the sakabatou's heavier than my bokken, and using some of Kenshin's moves makes my wrists hurt if I'm not careful."_

"Ready to go?" Yahiko looked at Nobu and Kenji, finishing the last of the cleanup, then at Tsubame and Hina, furtively packing the food into a dark-colored carrying cloth for easier portage. He grinned and directed his words to Hina, who was conspicuously trying to hide the lunch he knew they'd made for him. "Come on, Chibi. Let's get our coats on, then, and I'll let you stand on my shoulders until we get to the station, all right?"

With a whoop, Hina took off for the front gate, excited about the prospect of being so high in the air. Tsubame, a strangled cry in her throat, dashed after her with a damp kitchen towel. She still had rice all over her hands!

Yahiko rubbed the back of his head ruefully as Tsubame dashed past. The once-demure girl had been spending a little _too_ much time around Kaoru, he thought with a half-grin as the boys snickered at him behind their hands. Then again, he'd known how Hina would react to his proposal, so it was his own fault that he hadn't told her to wait to wash her hands.

But still…that didn't mean Tsubame had the right to hit him!

Sighing, Yahiko cast a glance at Kenji and Nobu, who were doing their hardest to control their mirth. "All right, you two," he sighed with feigned exasperation. "Let's get going." He let them precede him down the hall and muttered warningly, "And don't either of you mention this to Chief Uramura. If he found out that my wife beats me, he'll start asking _her_ to guard the ambassador!"

* * *

Written: 7.19.06

Author's Notes: I'm not too sure about this ending here, but it'll have to do until I can think of something better. Ideas or suggestions, anyone?

_Glossary (in alphabetical order):  
Bokken: all-wood sword  
Chibi: roughly means "small one", used here as an affectionate nickname. Can be used as an insult (especially when directed towards a boy)  
Daikon: white Japanese vegetable, vaguely radish-like  
Gi: traditional Japanese shirt, open in front with the left side crossed over the right  
Kenjutsu: sword fighting  
-kun: affectionate suffix for males  
Hakama: traditional Japanese pants, held up by long ties tied around the wearer's waist  
-nee: an affectionate suffix for an older sister  
-nii: an affectionate suffix for an older brother  
Niichan: "older brother"  
Ocha: Japanese green tea  
Ojiichan: "grandpa"  
Onigiri: rice balls, wrapped in seaweed; a common easy-to-make meal  
Sakabatou: Kenshin's reverse-blade sword  
-san: polite suffix; "Mr./Mrs./Ms."  
Sensei: "teacher"  
Shinai: bamboo sword used in practice; can be used for full-contact with an opponent  
Shoji: rice paper screen_


	4. A Kyoto Visit

**Genpuku**

Thank you to **Shauntell** for your wonderful review of Chapter One! Your ideas have given me a lot to think about. I apologize if the story doesn't progress the way you've imagined, but I will try to address some of the issues you raised. Thanks also to everyone else who's given me feedback and ideas, as well as their expectations and hopes for how this should be resolved.

**Chapter Four:  
A Kyoto Visit**

* * *

"Mou! _Kenshin!_"

The outraged exclamation had him grinning and marveling over how the two simple words could always bring to mind the crystal-clear image, preserved forever in his memory, of her as a seventeen-year-old, cursing him for treating her like a child or for doing something to ruffle her feathers.

Such as what he'd done before coming downstairs after he'd gone up to the room where they were staying at the Aoiya to drop off the packages they'd acquired from the day's shopping. He had to struggle to compose his features as Kaoru's footsteps stomped louder down the stair treads as she approached like a thundercloud, knowing he'd really be in for it if she saw even a glimmer of humor in his expression.

Beside him, peeling vegetables for the evening meal over the sink, Aoshi had time to send Kenshin one vaguely amused look before Kaoru descended with all her fury into the kitchen.

"Kenshin!" Kaoru stood in the doorway, looking absolutely…livid.

She was also wearing nothing more than one of Kenshin's white gi, a damp bath towel wrapped around her waist. Her wet, gleaming black hair was tied up securely on top of her head with the same thin white towel she'd used to keep her hair out of her eyes while she'd been bathing.

The closest Kenshin had ever seen Shinomori Aoshi, okashira of the Oniwabanshuu, to blushing was when he looked at Kaoru over his shoulder, saw her in such a state of undress, and quickly averted his eyes. He returned to peeling vegetables, and Kenshin was pretty sure he'd seen Aoshi's hand wobble a little as he picked up another carrot.

But he had no time to dwell on the latest wonder of the world, because Kaoru was stalking across the kitchen towards him, and the expression on her face was the same sort of look that a man-eating tiger would wear once it had gotten its pretty cornered and quivering with fear after a long chase.

Her voice was like ice. "_Where_ did you put all my clothes?"

Kenshin had to struggle for composure, scrambling to achieve that rurouni-like innocence he _knew_ he still had, hidden somewhere deep down inside, where it had lay dormant for so many years now. "Clothes, Kaoru-dono? I saw your sleeping yukata folded on top of the futon when I dropped off the packages. We aren't going anywhere else tonight, so you don't have to dress up…"

Her eyes, those gorgeous cobalt-blue eyes he had fallen in love with that cold winter's night so long ago when she had challenged him to protect her family's honor, narrowed dangerously. Kenshin realized with that one glare his mistake. One of Sano's favorite—and more profane—exclamations leapt, unbidden, to Kenshin's mind.

He'd been trying so hard to assume his rurouni persona, he'd fallen straight into his former speech patterns—including the fatal error of calling her 'Kaoru-_dono_'.

"Kenshin!" She'd perfected that tone of voice on their sons, his name a whiplash with an edge as sharply honed as Battousai's wakizashi. And, much like he'd seen his boys do in the face of such powerful anger, Kenshin cowered. Shamelessly.

There were times Kaoru wished she could throttle her husband. This wasn't one of them. What Kaoru _really_ wanted to do was snatch the knife Aoshi was wielding and use it to skin Kenshin where he stood, much the way the tall ninja was peeling vegetables. With long, steady strokes of the blade that would leave him oozing blood from every inch of his exposed body. Kenshin was doing this on purpose! He was…teasing her! Her fingers curled in rage even as she had to fight back the niggling sense of humor at the whole situation. Kenshin only slipped and used the polite '-dono' when he was trying to be sneaky and fake innocence.

He was a really, really bad liar.

The man was incorrigible, and he'd only gotten worse since becoming a father. Kaoru supposed it only made logical sense; as a boy, Kenshin had been forced too soon, too young, to be a man. Now, as an adult, he was compensating and acting the way most people grew out of by the time they turned eighteen.

But that was no reason to let him off the hook _that_ easily.

"I can't wear my yukata to dinner!" Kaoru's eyes cut pointedly to Aoshi, clearly speaking of the embarrassment factor, though in reality she was more worried about giving Okina strange ideas…"And what about traveling? I have to wear _something_ for the journey back!"

"Oro?" Kenshin maintained his steadfastly put-upon demeanor, but knew he was hard-pressed not to burst into uncontrollable laughter at any moment. "That's a good point, Kaoru-dono." He knew he was caught, but he could read the devilish merriment in Kaoru's eyes; she had never mastered the ability to mask how she truly felt, and her eyes gave her away every time.

But that was no reason to let her win _that_ easily.

"But I already asked Misao-dono to take care of our luggage, so it's out of my control…"

Kaoru would have screamed in frustration—he was egging her on, he was just egging her on—had Misao not popped in at just that moment, sticking her head around Kaoru's shoulder to catch a glimpse of Aoshi, probably for no more reason than to confirm his presence. Her hair, cut to a more manageable length during her pregnancies and early child-rearing years, had had ten years to grow and was almost as long as Kenshin remembered when he'd first met her, as spirited and stubborn at sixteen as she was now. At thirty-two, the unwise might have expected her to settle down, or grow up, but Misao was Misao—optimistic, cheery, energetic, and unchanging.

She had ceded the title and responsibilities of okashira to Aoshi soon after returning to Kyoto and burying the four fallen Oniwabanshuu members closer to home. With Aoshi running the organization and Okina, Omasu, and Okon heading the Aoiya, Misao had dedicated herself to completing the training interrupted when Aoshi had first left her for Tokyo and strengthening the Oniwabanshuu's anti-crime efforts in conjuction with the local police.

Too bad _they_ didn't have Chief Uramura. Nooo, _they_ were stuck with the broom-headed ex-Juppongatana, Chou. What a pain.

And, at the age of nineteen, she'd fulfilled her lifelong ultimate dream and became Aoshi's wife, adding to her daily duties caring for him and, then, their children.

"Hey, Himura, Shiro and Kuro put your stuff in the carriage, so you're all set to leave first thing tomorr…" Misao caught the killing look Kaoru sent her husband, and Misao finally noticed Kaoru's odd garb. Not one to miss out on a joke, her lightning-quick mind putting two and two together rapidly, she said, "Looking good, Kaoru-san. And I had the delivery guy drop the boxes off up in your room."

The last was directed to Kenshin, and he smiled at her, ignoring the suspicion that crossed Kaoru's face. "Thank you, Misao-dono."

"Himura." Aoshi's deep voice was calm as ever, and he turned from where he'd been all but invisible at the sink, a growing number of peeled vegetables piling up in front of him. "Perhaps you should diffuse the situation before your wife explodes of ire. I have been peeling vegetables for a long time now. I do not wish to see all my efforts wasted if she combusts and covers the kitchen in rather unappetizing internal matter."

His face was dead serious, his voice vaguely monotonous, but Kenshin could swear he had just made a joke.

"Aoshi-sama!" Misao's protest was half familiar wail and half sternly unforgiving chastise. She, too, was the mother of boys. "That is _not_ funny!"

Kaoru cut off any apology Aoshi might have offered, speaking to Misao. "Misao-chan. Kenshin's not giving me any straight answers, and I'm starting to feel just a bit ridiculous. What's going on? What delivery guy? And can I borrow something to wear, please?"

Misao glanced at Kenshin, who put down the knife he'd been using to chop up the vegetables Aoshi was peeling and took Kaoru's hand in his. He exchanged a brief, significant look with Misao, and Misao nodded her head in the slightest of nods before turning to Kaoru with a bright smile. "It's for Himura to explain, not me. Don't be mad, though, be happy! Today's a _good_ day!"

Kaoru let Kaoru lead her out of the kitchen, all teasing gone, and up the stairs. Her confused eyes met his placid violet ones. "Come with me," Kenshin said simply, and Kaoru subsided, willing to wait to see what answers lay ahead.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Kenshin…" A little nervous now, Kaoru walked a pace behind him up the stairs, wishing she could look him in the eye. It had started out as nothing more than a little teasing, harmless flirting, really. She was upset about the lack of clothes, but she'd figured out soon enough that Kenshin had just played a joke on her; her first response was to answer his joke with anger, and Kaoru didn't believe in trying to hide who she was for anyone or anything.

But now…now she wasn't so sure what was going on.

"Trust me," Kenshin said, another simple command that was more that than entreaty, and yet wasn't quite direct order. They reached the upstairs landing, and Kenshin kept Kaoru's fingers intertwined with his. He spoke, conversationally, as they walked down the hall to their room.

"I don't remember joking much as a child, unless you could being made fun _of_ by my Shishou counts. Before Shishou, I don't remember laughing or having any fun. And afterwards, there was no fun at all—some moments of peace, of happiness, yes—but nothing to really make me laugh. I had no one to just pend time with, to enjoy being with, to make me laugh and realize _this_ is why you live. Not just what I fought for, but…this is why you live. No one until you."

He paused outside the door and smiled at her. "I'm sorry for teasing you, Kaoru, but I've learned to really live because you've been here to show me why."

Kaoru's lips quirks despite the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach in anticipation of whatever surprise lay on the far side of the door. "So it's my fault I'm walking around in my bath towel in front of Aoshi-san?" The mortification of the moment, when she'd walked into the kitchen and realized Kenshin wasn't alone, hit her again. _Why?_ Her mind wailed. _Why did it have to be him?_

Kenshin shook his head but ignored her question. "Kaoru…Do you know what day today is?"

Her mind went completely blank. "Uh…Thursday. January thirtieth."

He nodded and put his hands on the door, releasing hers, but didn't slide it open yet. "Today, sixteen years ago, was the day I first met you, on that empty street in Tokyo. It was the happiest day of my life." Kaoru didn't think she'd ever seen Kenshin's eyes so beautiful or so honest as they were now, caught in her gaze as surely as she was trapped in his.

His voice was whisper-soft. "I don't think I've ever thanked you. And…I saw these, and when you went with Misao-dono last week to the theater, I ordered a couple for you. I thought you'd like them. I hope you do."

And with that simple confession, Kenshin slid open the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

They had decided to forgo the heavier items on the shopping list until after lunch, for which Kenji was glad. He didn't fancy lugging around all those groceries to the small but popular udon shop. It was crowded indoors, where there were cramped booths inside the well-lit space, but it was warm, the service was good, and the food was excellent.

"Tsubame-san!" The proprietor was a stout little woman, probably in her early forties, with warm, friendly brown eyes and wispy black hair slipping out of the traditional-style knot she had fashioned at the base of her neck. She wore a long white apron over the restaurant's uniform kimono of pale green with darker silvery stripes. "It's so good to see you! It's been a while."

She and Tsubame bowed in greeting, and Tsubame smiled in genuine pleasure. "Hello, Tanizaki-san. I'm glad to see you so well. Your restaurant is as busy as ever!"

"Business is good, and we're very lucky. Are these your—No," she interrupted herself, her gaze sweeping over the three children; lighting on Kenji, with his distinctive violet eyes, she smiled. "These must be the Himura children."

"They are." Tsubame performed the introductions, and the children bowed politely in turn. Then they were whisked off to a table, the hostess taking the bags of groceries they had already bought to the back for easier storage while they ate.

Kenji waited until they had ordered before he directed the question that had been nagging him all morning to Tsubame. "Tsubame-nee?" She looked at him inquisitively over the top of Hina's head, and Kenji hesitated a moment before asking, "Why does Yahiko-nii wear the character for 'evil' on some of his shirts?"

The question seemed to startle Tsubame for a moment, but then a small smile, one that plainly reminisced about a past time, covered her face. For a minute Kenji thought she might not answer, but she finally said, "Your father has mentioned his friend who went traveling before you were born, Sagara Sanosuke-san, hasn't he?"

Kenji nodded and, without turning his attention from Tsubame, grabbed the cup of tea away from Hina's curious hands before she spilled the hot contents and burned herself. "Yeah. Dad calls him the closest friend he ever had, other than Mom, but he doesn't talk about him much. He's from the days when Dad used to fight for peace in the Meiji Era, right? With his sakabatou and stuff."

_Oh, Kenji-kun. You have no idea how Kenshin-san fought for the Meiji Era,_ Tsubame thought sadly, and for a moment she was eleven years old again, sitting on the back porch of the dojo on a muggy summer's eve, listening to the man she'd grown to love and trust as much as family tell a tale of love and hate, justice, revenge, death, and an innocence shattered.

Her heart ached now, as it had then, for the boy who had too soon become a man.

But all she said was a single "Yes" before continuing. "This should be a story for Yahiko-kun to tell, not me, but the short answer to your question is that Yahiko-kun inherited, if you will, the symbol of 'evil' from Sanosuke-san. Sanosuke-san used to wear it all the time, as a reminder of an injustice done to him and his adopted father when he was still a child. When Sanosuke-san left the country to go traveling, he asked Yahiko-kun to help share some of the burden of memory."

Yahiko had shared with her all this, and while Tsubame knew Kenji would ask Yahiko later for the details, she wasn't sure how much of the deep past—the Sekihoutai, the corruption of the Ishinshishi, and Kenshin's own role in everything—he would divulge.

Kenji seemed content to leave it at that, and he turned his attention to Hina, who had moved from where Tsubame sat on one side of the low table to the opposite side, where he sat facing her. Tsubame was glad Kenji hadn't pressed further; his interest extended to Yahiko's adoption of the unusual kanji, nothing more. It always made Tsubame uneasy to talk about Kenshin's past, because she was afraid of saying too much.

It's not that Kenshin and Kaoru told lies or kept secrets from their children. It was just…sometimes they didn't tell them the whole truth, either.

It was for their protection, and because some memories, some ghosts, were better off left untouched. Bu tnonetheless, it was rare times like these that Tsubame was glad she wasn't a parent, because the ethical dilemma wasn't hers to solve.

* * *

Written: 7.20.06

Author's Notes: The name of the udon shop proprietor is taken from Japanese author Tanizaki Junichiro, whose works I read last quarter in Japanese Lit class. His stories (especially "The Tattooer") were creepy but, apparently, stuck with me. It's of no importance, but I thought credit was due where credit is deserved, and I shamelessly stole his name for this.

A few historical notes…the Sekihoutai was the group Sano was involved with, led by Sagara Souzou. While they fought for the new era and were technically helping the Ishinshishi patriots (same side as Kenshin), they did so on their own terms and, after the revolution was secured, were labeled as "traitors" and persecuted. Sagara-taichou, Sano's captain and father-figure during this time, was beheaded as an example.

The Ishinshishi were the patriots, led by Okubo and Yamagata, among others, who fought and eventually won the Bakumatsu (Meiji Revolution) with help of shadow assassins such as Hitokiri Battousai.

_Glossary:  
-chan: affectionate suffix for children and girls  
-dono: "lady"; trademark of Kenshin's wandering days with which he refers to women  
Gi: traditional Japanese shirt, open in front with the left side crossed over the right  
-kun: affectionate suffix for males  
Mou: exclamation of exasperation  
-nee: an affectionate suffix for an older sister  
-nii: an affectionate suffix for an older brother  
Okashira: "leader"  
Sakabatou: Kenshin's reverse-blade sword  
-sama: "lord"  
-san: polite suffix; "Mr./Mrs./Ms."  
Shishou: "master" (as of a sword style); Kenshin's name for Hiko Seijurou  
Wakizashi: short sword worn by samurai in addition to the longer katana  
Yukata: thin cotton robe, plainer than a kimono_


	5. Long Road Home

**Genpuku**

I've tried to portray Kenshin and Kaoru fairly, as good parents struggling with all the trials and tribulations of first-timers. As **Shauntell** mentioned, I don't wish to indicate that Kenshin (or Kaoru) have somehow neglected to notice their own son's personality flaws, as it were. It is my hope that I have done them justice without perjuring either them or Kenji in the process.

**Chapter Five:  
Long Road Home**

* * *

Kenji resembled both his parents: his father more closely in physical appearance and overall temperament, his mother in independence and bright-spirited determination against all odds. He'd always been the most difficult of the three Himura children, because that independence, as it did in his mother, often asserted itself as stubbornness, and he'd more than once been sent to time-out for refusing to do what his parents said.

Hina was her mother's daughter, spirited, stubborn, inquisitive, with a trusting nature that would hopefully be tempered by maturity and common sense when she grew older. What was sweet in a six-year-old was downright dangerous in a sixteen-year-old. _She_ didn't need to be picking fights with unknown strangers of rumored unmatchable strength in the middle of the night. She'd inherited her father's smile, though, and when her sapphire eyes sparkled with joy, it was over Kenshin's sweet, sweet smile that the laughter danced out of her gaze.

Nobu, though, Nobu didn't _seem_ to take after either his mother or his father, in outward appearance or in demeanor. He had hair a shade somewhere between his older brother's chocolaty brown and his sister's raven-wing black, though it shone reddish in the strong light of sunset. His eyes, too, were dark, deeper than either parents', almost black and hard to determine whether they were blue or purple, or a bit of both.

He was generally a silent, serious boy, not as outright outgoing as Hina or as blatantly bold as Kenji, and often seemed pensive or otherwise lost in thought somewhere. He loved his sister, doted on her without reservation, and pursued kenjutsu with an inborn skill that spoke of a talent inherited from his father.

But there were definite moments where his keen observations reminded Tsubame sharply that he was undoubtedly a Himura, and in his veins flowed the blood of the man who was more legend than human, a man named Hitokiri Battousai.

Hina was chattering to Kenji about something to do with chopsticks and how long they were, and Nobu turned eyes that burned with clarity on Tsubame. "Niichan always wears a shirt with the kanji for evil when he does a job for the police. Are they connected to Otousan's friend Sanosuke?"

Sometimes Tsubame couldn't help but wish that Kenshin's sons were _less_ like him. But she found herself answering honestly, softly, sadly. "Yes. The police—the government—were the ones who committed the injustice against Sanosuke-san. Yahiko-kun wears the kanji whenever he works with the police as a reminder that while they might be serving justice now, good guys aren't always the good guys to everyone all the time."

Nobu's gaze, so serious, so astute, stayed level and unwavering on Tsubame's face. _Good guys aren't always good guys…_"So when Yahiko-nii wears it and works for the police, he's reminding himself that, in the eyes of the 'bad guys' he might have to fight…to them, _he_ might be the bad guy…"

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Kaoru gazed into the room, and she inhaled sharply, her eyes wide in disbelief. "Oh, Kenshin…" The sun's dying rays illuminated the room with a strong light through the thick clouds on the horizon. Two beautiful kimono hung on stands, held open on the wooden frames for full view. Kaoru's breath caught in her throat as she hesitantly approached the first.

It was simple, obviously more for everyday wear, but so richly colored it turned the plain garment into a piece of art. The first budding blossoms of spring decorated the pale green-blue cloth, and butterflies of deep violets and reds and golds fluttered delicately among the branches.

The second had tears springing to her eyes, Kenshin's name soundless on her lips. It was without the finest kimono she'd ever seen, and the most innately feminine article of clothing she'd ever thought she'd own. It was a pale rose with an intricate pattern of silver and white woven into the cloth, delicate, mature, _female_. The hem and the trailing ends of the sleeves faded to white, as if the wearer were rising out of the purest light. The accompanying obi was a deep, rich emerald green in contrast, highlighting her narrow waist and complimenting the darkness of her hair.

"They're beautiful." She could barely form the words, and her fingers trembled as she lifted them, tentatively, to touch one silk collar in breathless wonder. "Oh, Kenshin. Thank you." Only he would know as he had with that wordless comprehension of his that more than a kenjutsu instructor, more than a mother, more than the naïve, idealistic girl she'd been when he'd first met her…more than that, she wanted to be seen as—wanted to _be_—a woman. To be loved, to be cherished, to be desired. And this kimono symbolized all that, and more, with its understated elegance and beauty.

"Thank you." _For loving me. For understanding me. Kenshin…thank you._

She turned and threw her arms around Kenshin's neck, and he gathered her close as her tears—of gratitude, of joy of the love that swept through them both—soaked into his shirt.

And if the towel around her waist came loose and fell to the ground when she pressed herself against him, well, Kenshin had no complaints.

He might have been a legend, but he was still, after all, a man.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"We'll be back to visit soon," Kenshin reassured as a teary-eyed Misao latched onto Kaoru. "The kids were upset they couldn't come with us this time, and I know they'd like to see you two and your boys soon."

Kaoru hugged Misao tightly, tears shimmering in her own gaze. Misao was Kaoru's closest friend, and they might see each other again for months or more. "You're always welcome to come visit if you have the time. Thank you for your hospitality these past few weeks. It's been lovely staying with you." With a final pat on the back, Kaoru released Misao and stepped back. She looked to Aoshi, standing impassively back a pace, his two sons—both tall, dark, but definitely leaning more towards their mother in disposition—at his side. "Aoshi-san."

He inclined his head in kind, those dark eyes as enigmatic as ever. "Kaoru." There was a beat, and Kaoru turned to follow Kenshin into the carriage that would take them to the train station. She stopped and looked over her shoulder, surprised, when Aoshi spoke again.

"This summer we're going to have a training camp of sorts for the younger Oniwabanshuu members." Both boys, ninja-in-training, straightened a little and grinned at that. "Perhaps we will hold it in Tokyo. It would be good to see you again."

Kaoru blinked, too surprised to respond, and then a warm smile broke out even as Misao, throwing herself at her husband in an unabashed show of enthusiasm, squealed in delight. Kaoru would never understand that man, impassive as a rock, dark as a moon's shadow, as deep as the Pacific Ocean, and as good and loyal a friend as any Kaoru had dreamed of having. "It would be our pleasure to have you come to Tokyo, and to come stay with us for however long your training camp runs. Take care, Aoshi-san." She climbed into the carriage, Kenshin helping her up the step, and waved through the window. "Bye!"

"Have a safe trip!" The Shinomori family waved back, Aoshi's wave more of a hand lifted stoically into the air than the wholehearted motion of Misao's arm that involved her entire body swaying from side to side. And they continued to wave until the carriage turned the corner and out of sight.

Kenshin relaxed back against the cushions with a sigh. It had been a good trip, all in all; he was never aware of the slight tension that ran through his body every time he came to visit Kyoto, the hunting grounds of the man, the killer, he'd once been, until he was on his way out. And he was grateful to Misao-dono for offering to let them stay—free of charge, and she had refused any insistence of payment—but it was no small relief to take a breather.

As if reading his thoughts, Kaoru said wonderingly, "Misao-chan will probably have that much energy when she's sixty and seventy." There was a pause, and as Kenshin laughed, Kaoru added, "That's a scary thought."

Kenshin had to nod his head, in complete agreement on both counts. "I'm glad her children seem to have inherited more of Aoshi's calm nature, though." He could only imagine the damage to be done had either boy had the same penchant as she for wanton acts of exuberance.

They lapsed into companionable silence, the sound of the carriage wheels clattering over the road filling the space. Kenshin took a moment to admire Kaoru, in her new blue-green kimono, in the isolated space of the carriage interior, sheltered from the rush of life on the streets around them.

Glad as he was they had made this trip, Kenshin was looking forward to returning to the dojo. They were going to stop by Aizu to visit Megumi for a couple days, detouring from Tokyo first, but it was good nonetheless to be heading towards home. Kenshin rarely thought about how old he was getting, but he never felt his age as sharply as when he was around Misao. Her boundless energy, all that reckless enthusiasm—balanced by her drive for honor and, always, her need to be seen as 'mature' enough for Aoshi—was a poignant reminder that he wasn't as young as he'd once been.

"It'll be good to see the kids again." It was amazing how sometimes they could be thinking the exact same thoughts. Kaoru glanced over at Kenshin, focusing on her husband's face and not the passing scenery for the first time since they'd gotten into the carriage. "I hope it wasn't too much to ask Yahiko and Tsubame-chan to watch them for so long. You know how Kenji can be…difficult, at times."

"He's a teenager." It still sometimes gave him a jolt, being a _father_. Discussing his kids as if they made sense to him. As if he lived a normal life, had lived a normal life instead of growing up bathed in blood. By the time he'd been Kenji's age, he'd lost his parents and siblings, been taken into slavery, seen wanton bloodshed, instructed in the ways of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, and had assumed the responsibility of assassin to ensure the happiness of countless unknown people in the new era. He'd met the girl who'd be his first wife and had begun to question if what he was doing was right…If he could ever live with himself after all the blood he'd rained over the soiled streets of Kyoto.

"From what I gather, it seems to be a rough time to live through. Besides, Yahiko's tough. Between him and Tsubame-dono, they should be okay." He wasn't worried, like Kaoru was, more eager to hold his little girl than anything else.

"I hope it's not too much for Tsubame-chan," Kaoru murmured, sadly, thinking of the longing she often read in Tsubame's eyes when she watched Kaoru with her children.

"Hmm?" Kenshin hadn't quite heard his wife's quiet comment. "What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering how Nobu's come along, that's all." It was only partially a lie; she _was_ thinking about her middle son—she was thinking about all her children. Years ago, when she had first heard from the doctor, Tsubame had confided in Kaoru all the mortifying details of her inability to have children. At the younger girl's begging, Kaoru had promised not to tell Kenshin.

Some things were better left to the girls.

It wasn't as if he didn't know, though, Kaoru thought sometimes. The man was nothing if not perceptive. Sometimes _too_ perceptive.

And for all his perceptiveness, he was the densest, most oblivious man she'd ever met in her life.

Kaoru cast Kenshin a speculative glance, then let out a breath that ruffled her bangs. _Mou. _This was her husband, the man she'd loved for almost half her life. If she couldn't voice the little fears niggling at the back of her mind to him…

"Ne, Kenshin. I'm…worried about Kenji." Well, 'worried' wasn't quite right, but it was the closest fit.

Kenshin's gaze, like his voice, was placid. "Why?"

A slight frown creased Kaoru's face at that. Why? "I don't know, really. Call it mother's intuition. He's never been bad, but ever since he was little, he's been more restless than Nobu ever was, even when he was nine. And he looks to Yahiko as a brother, not as a…a parent or caregiver. He'll respect Yahiko in the dojo, during training, but I don't know if he'd take what Yahiko says outside of that context."

Kenshin knew what Kaoru was talking about, that restlessness; he'd seen it in others, could identify with it himself. After all, what thirteen-year-old boy ran off to war if he wasn't seeking adventure? True, all those high-flying ideals of his had played a part—protecting people's happiness, wielding the sword to prevent someone's pain.

But even as Kenshin had seen such impatience before, so had Kaoru. "I still don't think it's something to be this worried about, Kaoru. He's been able to control himself so far. I don't think he'd try to…act out especially just because we aren't there. He'd know what problems it would cause for Yahiko. We just have to trust he won't put Yahiko and Tsubame-dono in that position." He didn't think that Kenji would take advantage of the fact that his parents were away to test his boundaries.

"Besides," he continued before Kaoru could say anything, "you remember how Yahiko was, and look at him now. Married, teaching classes, working with Chief Uramura, watching our family and home while we're gone. He turned out okay."

More than okay. Sometimes Kaoru wondered if Yahiko hadn't, in his own special way, been the first child she'd raised. Reminiscing, Kaoru let a silly, sappy little smile play over her face. "He was younger." She murmured it, nostalgically, as the memories rose to play in her mind. "Yahiko was younger than Kenji. And his circumstances were different."

"That they were." Images flashed through Kenshin's mind of the little boy the man he'd come to respect and trust had once been—Yahiko arrogantly declaring himself a 'samurai', refusing to accept what he thought was 'charity' that first meeting on the bridge; Yahiko fighting the men who'd mistreated Tsubame; Yahiko as he really came into his own, becoming strong enough to back up his proud boasts with very real fighting skills. Yahiko, becoming someone who could help bear the burden not only of Sano's sign of evil, but the heavy weight of Kenshin's own past and the repercussions it had on the present.

Someone who could not only stand beside Kenshin, but surpass him.

Kaoru's face was set in that stubborn way Kenshin loved—and feared. The woman got that look, there was nothing he could do, say, or promise that would change her mind. "But Yahiko's situation was different!" She repeated, barreling on before Kenshin could give her that helpless, 'haven't-we-been-over-this-before' look she secretly found adorable.

"Yahiko was full of himself, and I'm not saying he wasn't, but he'd been abused by those nasty yakuza types. He was arrogant because…because he was this little boy, but with you and Sanosuke around, he always got to play with the big kids. And he came out okay because of everything that happened as much as because of himself—or despite himself. First Shishio Makoto and fighting at the Aoiya with you gone, then Enishi and his crazed idea of revenge and all that went on…He _had_ to grow up, and grow up fast, or he'd be left behind." Literally.

Kenshin knew what Kaoru meant, and everything she said made sense. He'd thought of many of the same things—again, working on the same wavelength as Kaoru—but had kept his worries and his musings to himself so as to not alarm her. And besides.

"Kaoru. We can't do anything about it now, and what will needless worrying accomplish?" He smiled patiently at her, sensing she had worn herself out with her fears and was willing to let him change the subject. "Kenji's waited fourteen and a half years to act irrationally or dangerously or otherwise irresponsibly in any way. We've raised him as best as we could, so we have to trust he'll continue to act that way even while we're gone. And even if he is on the brink of something completely wild, I'm sure he can wait another few days until we get back and things have gone back to normal again.

"It'll be okay, Kaoru. Trust me. It'll be okay."

And Kaoru did trust Kenshin, implicitly. It wasn't a matter of trust. It was just…

Why did it sound like Kenshin was trying to convince himself of everything he'd said as much as trying to reassure her?

* * *

Written: 7.21.06

Author's Notes: Kenshin and Kaoru are thinking about how they're getting older here, and despite their…loss of towelage scene…they _are_ getting on in their years. Kenshin's only forty-four, but I'm accounting for the fact that the Meiji Era life expectancy was considerably shorter than in present-day. This is why Kaoru says that Misao will have that much energy when she's sixty or seventy, rather than, say, ninety.

_Glossary:  
-chan: affectionate suffix for children and girls  
-dono: "lady"; trademark of Kenshin's wandering days with which he refers to women  
Kenjutsu: sword fighting  
Mou: exclamation of exasperation  
Ne: "hey"; an attention getter  
-nii: an affectionate suffix for an older brother  
Niichan: "older brother"  
Otousan: "dad"  
-san: polite suffix; "Mr./Mrs./Ms."  
Yakuza: Japanese mafia_


	6. Not Kenshin

**Genpuku**

This chapter is definitely rated M for sexual innuendos. Yahiko and Tsubame aren't really human, they're actually bunny rabbits in disguise. Nothing explicit; they just tease each other about it, so beware the lewd jokes.

**Chapter Six:  
Not Kenshin**

* * *

The afternoon beginners' class didn't officially begin until three o'clock, but at two-thirty students were already arriving through the front gates and crossing the chilly yard to the dojo. Tsubame played with Hina on the hardwood hallway outside, both dressed warmly against the playful bite of the winter breeze, keeping an eye on the front gate and half-listening to the boys' chatter inside. The beginners were mostly around Nobu's age or a bit younger, anywhere from seven to ten with one twelve-year-old who had just moved to town from the countryside. He didn't seem to mind being so much older than the others, and the other students accepted him easily. Right now he was entertaining them with some tale about a haunted cave back in his hometown as they set out their armor.

At ten to three, Nobu poked his head out of the dojo to look at Tsubame worriedly. "Neechan? Is Yahiko-nii still not back?"

Tsubame shook her head, and she was as uneasy as he. "Not yet." She managed a brave smile for him. "I'm sure he's just running late, or maybe the police job is taking a little longer than expected. We still have a couple minutes, but how about you ask Kawakami-kun to start the stretching and warm-up exercises if he's not back in five minutes."

"All right." Nobu knew better than to voice his thoughts and ducked back into the dojo to relay the message to the most advanced student. Yahiko loathed to miss the less advanced classes—sometimes he let the highest-ranking student lead warm-ups for Kenji's class, because they were further along—but it took serious circumstances for him to not come to Nobu's class.

He hadn't had to say his thoughts aloud, because he'd seen on Tsubame's face the same on her face. If something bad had happened on the job, word might not reach them for hours. Tsubame looked preoccupied enough without Nobu helping the situation any.

But at six minutes to three, the front gate banged hastily open and Yahiko came rushing through. Tsubame's heart leapt into her throat at the sight of him as he dashed across the yard—shirt torn, bloodstains on his hakama, and a makeshift bandage making a bulky lump below his left elbow.

But he was moving well—swiftly—so he wasn't injured seriously enough to be anything life-threatening, which was a relief. The look he sent Tsubame had her hurriedly turning Hina over to Kenji, who had wandered out from behind the dojo where he'd been since they'd gotten back. Then she was running along the hallway in Yahiko's wake, slipping into the bedroom behind him.

Idly, Kenji sat down beside Hina, stroked a hand over her hair as he cast an eye into the dojo where the students were limbering up for the day's practice. He wondered what it was like to have a woman run after you like that, to communicate with her with that one look. And beside the silly amusement of his thoughts, there was a very real worry. Because that one look hadn't been inviting, hadn't been one of those looks his dad sometimes gave his mom with that smitten look on his face.

This look had been serious, and it had spoken of trouble.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Oh, Yahiko-kun, you're hurt."

Even as she slid the door shut behind her, Tsubame's eyes were on Yahiko's lean frame, the blood and the bruises that marked his body. Though she'd been less than two steps behind him, Yahiko had already undone the first set of knots that held up his hakama. The sakabatou lay on the floor beside him, and Tsubame had to wonder how Yahiko had set it down so quickly, short of throwing it aside before starting on undressing.

His fingers moved swiftly over the second knot, and then he stepped out of the garment as it hit the floor, shedding his gi in the same movement.

"I'm okay. Some scrapes, some bruises, but I'm okay. We had a run-in with some toughs who thought they'd express their displeasure with the way our country's run in person. They could be big trouble; they were prepared, and they're crafty. Nearly got us today 'cause we weren't expecting an attack—not really."

He paused, eyes cold, and pulled on the clean practice gi Tsubame had laid out for him over the impressive mottled bruising over his left ribs. "They weren't counting on me being there, so we managed to chase them off—this time." Yahiko caught the distressed look Tsubame was sending the bloodied wound on his right thigh—how had that gotten there?—and grinned fiercely, a grin that didn't extend the grim humor to his eyes, so hard, so cold. "You should see the other guys."

That startled a laugh out of her, but her response was as fierce as his smile, and made him stop in the middle of his mad rush to get to class on time.

"Maybe I should, and give them a piece of my mind for hurting you."

His heart did a long, slow roll in his chest. Love. Oh, did he love her, so cute and beautiful, with fire shooting out of her eyes, all riled up because the toughs had managed to land a couple lucky hits.

Okay, more than 'lucky' hits, and they didn't land the one that would have ended the battle—on time, ironically. It was hard to admit, but Yahiko swallowed and shoved down the rising bile, the tears that wanted to pour out of his tired eyes. Instead he yanked on the last of the ties of his clean hakama—record time—and crossed to where Tsubame stood, that worried look on her face. He wasn't stupid enough to ignore the fact that the men who had hit today were good, well-trained, dangerous. He wasn't going to tell Tsubame the details to worry her needlessly; no, he wasn't _dumb_.

"Leave the bad guys to me." Yahiko crossed to Tsubame, touched his fingertips, light as air, to her cheek. _Leave the heroics to me._ He pressed his lips where his fingers had brushed, slid his mouth to her ear. "I gotta go, but…Maybe later, you can kiss all my hurts, make them feel better."

So, he didn't want to talk about it, and Tsubame was willing to let it go—for now. Now he had a dojo to lead.

She'd nag him black and blue later.

"Don't get your hopes up, Yahiko-kun," she said calmly as he headed out the door. He glanced back at her, read the humor in her gaze. "I'll only kiss where you're actually hurt, and you're walking too well to be hurt where you want to be kissed."

Yahiko's shout of laughter, full and warm, stayed with her even after he left, and Tsubame carefully put the sakabatou on its stand, then picked up the ragged, soiled clothes off the floor and sighed. She'd go soak the garments, hope to get most of the stains out, patch up the tears, but there was no hope that they would ever be the same.

It helped to be amused, and irritated, by the silly little things, because it kept her mind off the big ones. Yahiko went through more clothes in a year than anyone else she'd ever known. Blood stains and sword tears didn't do much for the aesthetic beauty of gi and hakama.

Yahiko made her blush, made her laugh. Tsubame couldn't help but smile as she carried the laundry out of the room down the hall. It had taken her a long time to realize she loved him for that. _Liked_ him well enough, cared for him as more than a friend, more than she'd ever cared for anyone, including her own parents when they'd still been alive—a long, long time ago. And even though she'd known from the first she'd had a crush on him, a serious crush—he'd taken a while picking up on that—it was Yahiko who had first realized their sweet and innocent childhood closer-than-friendship wasn't enough. It was he who first realized they loved each other.

Not, Tsubame thought with amusement, that 'he loved her', but that 'they loved each other.'

Arrogant. Self-assured. And just sweet enough, just good enough, to pull off that cockiness that had settled into confidence as he'd matured. Tsubame saw the same in Kenji, and she felt a quick tumble of pride when she saw him come around the corner of the house with Hina in his wake.

Kenji had the same—the arrogance, brimming too full for a man-child—but he lacked the years, the experience, the maturity that would hone him into the warrior of a bygone era Tsubame, hefting the laundry basket into her arms, could recognize he was.

"Is Yahiko-nii all right?" Hina's blue eyes were wide with worry as she called out the question before Kenji could. "He won't die, will he?"

Her bottom lip trembled, and Tsubame knelt, setting aside the dirty laundry, to gather her into a hug. "Of course Yahiko-kun won't die! He's a little bit hurt, though, so we'll have to be careful when we hug him." She leaned back and smiled brightly. "Yahiko-kun went straight to practice, didn't he? If he wasn't feeling good, would he do that?"

Hina didn't even pause to think; together, she and Kenji chorused "Yes!" and then laughed over their joke. Tsubame had to join them as she gathered up the basket and stood. She knew as well as they that it was the truth. But her assurances and the laughter had allayed the shadows in Hina's eyes, and, satisfied her job there was done, Tsubame turned her attention to the wash.

"Neechan." Kenji's voice was low and serious, and Tsubame glanced over to find him watching her with concern in his gaze. "What happened?"

Tsubame merely shook her head. _Not now._ Not with Hina there, not until she herself knew all the details. Yahiko hadn't finished telling her everything, and while she had a pretty good idea of what would come next, there were no guarantees.

For now, Tsubame waved Kenji off so she could do the laundry, Hina at her side. And, sighing a little, worried, she wished that Kenshin-san were back to help deal with this latest threat to the tranquility of the life they'd built.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

They didn't manage to get in their midday tryst, but in the end, it was okay with Yahiko. His ribs were throbbing like no other, and throwing himself into practice as soon as he'd gotten back probably hadn't been his greatest idea. He'd washed up while Tsubame started dinner, resisting the urge to take a long soak in the tub. Nobu still needed the bath after him, and Yahiko wasn't going to make him use the same water he'd bled into. Bath could come later, Yahiko told himself as he stepped out of the yukata, water damp in his hair, and applied some stinging medicine to the injury on his thigh before wrapping a bandage firmly around it.

Right now, more than a bath, he wanted Tsubame.

Nobu was in the bath, and Yahiko could hear him and Hina splashing gaily together in the tub. It made him smile at how close the two siblings were; one of Hina's favorite pastimes was taking a bath with her older brother. Yahiko walked slowly down the hall, towards the kitchen, trying not to limp on his injured leg. He'd used one of the techniques he'd picked up from watching Kenshin—Ryu Tsui Sen—and had landed too hard on his right ankle. He was, pretty much, a mess.

He wanted Tsubame.

It was a weakness that made his knees tremble as he paused before stepping down into the kitchen, watching Tsubame prepare the evening meal. This need for her, just to be with her, hear her voice, feel her presence soothing the rough edges of ugliness away, was a weakness, Yahiko knew. It was one he would kill to protect.

He didn't say anything, hadn't made any noise or done anything more than blink lovingly at her back—if blinking lovingly was indeed even possible—and Tsubame turned around to face him.

_Kami-sama._ She took his breath away. She was dressed simply in the blue-and-gold patterned kimono that Yahiko secretly thought made her look all grown-up and mature. Her hair, worn short all through her childhood, was longer now, brushing just past her shoulders, and she had it pushed back from her face with some Western horseshoe-shaped contraption called a 'headband'. It was white, sort of bendy, and made her look really, really cute.

She had a plain white apron on over her kimono, her sleeves tied back above her elbows and out of the way. As she watched him, she wiped her hands clean on the apron front.

"I heard you being," she said by way of explanation.

"Ah." _Ken ki,_ Yahiko thought, amused. So much time around swordsmen had condition her even without her knowing. "Thanks for cleaning up after me. I'm sorry I came home so…dirty. I was in a rush."

Yahiko usually cleaned up before coming home. Not that he usually got as dirty as he had today, but he kept a clean yukata with Chief Uramura at the station for wearing home if he needed it. Tsubame could handle the blood—had to be able to handle the blood—but she knew he'd been rattled that day, seriously rattled.

Because he'd rather have done the sacrilegious and been late to practice than let Hina see the bloodstains on his clothes, but today he hadn't even thought about it.

"It's all right," was all she said, and she turned to take a batch of tempura deep-frying on the stove out of the oil and placed them on a plate. Then she turned, crossed to Yahiko, and drew him into her arms.

How did she know? How could she know? Yahiko let himself lean into her, for a minute, just one minute, while she stroked his hair and murmured to him. The shakiness inside him subsided, and Yahiko had one split second where, in his mind's eye, he saw himself at age ten, wishing he were older and stronger.

Here he was. The dream had been achieved, but the longing, the sentiment, the determination had never lessened.

Yahiko straightened, grimacing as sore ribs twinged in protest. "Thanks. But we don't want the kids wandering in and seeing me all unmanly. I've got a reputation to uphold." Tsubame laughed and moved back to the stove to begin then next batch of tempura. "I'm sorry if I made you worry I was late today. And I put some bandages on, but I'd like it if you could check them for me, after dinner?" His voice rose in a question—not quite asking for her help, but not a command, either.

The look she cast him made him chuckle, then ease down to sit with his back against the doorjamb to relieve his poor ribs of the pain the tremors of humor caused. "Well, you could check _that_, too, but I do mean just the bandages."

"Mmm. Okay." She smiled over her shoulder, but her eyes were serious. "I'd love to, then."

There was a pause, and Yahiko knew she was waiting for the rest of what he hadn't told her earlier. He blew out a breath, and began.

"These guys who hit today, they aren't just some random group. This wasn't just some random hit. It was planned, it was organized, it was ruthless. Their goal was to kill, and if they had to get through the police to do it, they were prepared for that. They killed one of Chief Uramura's best men and put another three in the hospital in serious condition. We don't know if they'll make it." His eyes burned when Tsubame turned to stare at him, horrified, and in his eyes she read anger, guilt, and a ferocity to serve justice to matter what the personal cost.

And he was scared.

"He died protecting me. Didn't watch my own back, didn't think they could—would—be that fast, that good. Guy came out of nowhere, and Lieu…the officer took the hit for me." He sucked in a breath, held it, then let it out on a shuddering sigh. "They want me back day after tomorrow to be an escort for another government official. The guy we caught—oh, I forgot to say, we managed to get one guy alive—said that their next target is some head of the department of…um, something. He's the one coming day after tomorrow for some parade. Anyway, Chief Uramura asked if I'd be there. They wanted Kenshin, too, but I told them he wasn't here, so…" His grin flashed humorlessly. "They had to settle for me."

Someone had died, and they wanted Yahiko back on the front lines. Tsubame felt nameless emotions roll through her, choking, strangling. And she said, "Be careful."

"I'll go too."

Yahiko glanced up at Kenji, stepping out of the shadows where he'd been standing. His violet eyes were hard with determination. "I'm sorry for eavesdropping, but I couldn't help it. I was just walking by and I overheard you talking. Let me go, too."

"No." Yahiko didn't so much as look up at him, instead glancing to Tsubame to continue his conversation as if Kenji weren't there. "It's better if Kenshin isn't there, I think, this time. It worries Kaoru more and more when he goes, and he would never be able to turn this one down."

Temper flared, was viciously battled back. Kenji's hands fisted involuntarily at his sides. "Yahiko-nii." His voice was tight, and he waited for Yahiko to turn his head back towards him. "Hear me out. I'm not just saying this. I'm a good fighter; you know that's true. We work well together, we've got a rhythm from practicing together all the time. I'm fast, I'm strong. I don't lose my head in a fight. I'm young, so I've got stamina. You could use me. I can help you."

_Not if you're dead._ "No."

This time the battle was ugly and only barely won. "_Niichan._ Let me go with you. You said someone was killed—"

"That's why you're not going." Yahiko was implacable. "I don't want you dead."

"I won't die!" Kenji was fuming now, control snapped. Neither noticed Tsubame quietly returning to the task of cooking, her quivers tight as she fought to hide the evidence of her fear. "I'm Kenshin's oldest son, aren't I? I deserve to hold the family name. My dad can't be there, but I can. I—"

Yahiko's eyes flared, and he stood, a sharp movement that brought him face-to-face with Kenji. If his ribs hurt, it didn't show in the rocklike hardness of his expression. Kenji was forced to tilt his head back to look directly at Yahiko; the centimeters of difference in height was enough to give Yahiko a slight advantage.

"I made a promise to your parents that you'd be safe." His voice was deadly soft. "I'm not going to let that promise be broken because you have something to prove. This is a real fight we're talking about, not practice, not playing, and I can't split my time between doing my job and looking out for you. You're not going, and that's final." Kenji spluttered in angry protest, but Yahiko's next words cut him off.

"You may be a Himura, but you're not Kenshin. You can't replace him, Kenji, you can't _be_ him. Don't throw what you've got away trying to live up to someone you're not."

Silence simmered, an angry, explosive pause, and then Kenji took a step back, the better to glare into Yahiko's eyes through the tears that shone in his own. "And you said _I'm_ arrogant? I'm not the arrogant one, Niichan. _You_ are. And you'll never replace Dad, either."

The sob tore harshly out of Kenji's throat, and with that he turned and fled.

* * *

Written: 7.23.06

Author's Notes: Ryu Tsui Sen is the first of Kenshin's attacks we see; it's the 'flying one', where he leaps into the air and then comes crashing down onto the enemy from above. It's one of the two techniques (the other is Ryu Sho Sen) Yahiko picks up from him and uses.

Yahiko's not too understanding of Kenji's situation here, please let me know if you think he's too OOC. Please understand, though, he's under a lot of stress, and I'll explain some of that in the next chapter. Thank you!

_Glossary:  
Gi: traditional Japanese shirt, open in front  
Kami-sama: "God"  
Hakama: traditional Japanese pants, held up by long ties tied around the wearer's waist  
-kun: affectionate suffix for males  
Neechan: "older sister"  
-nii: an affectionate suffix for an older brother  
Niichan: "older brother"  
Sakabatou: Kenshin's reverse-blade sword  
-san: polite suffix; "Mr./Mrs./Ms."_


	7. A Moment for Us

**Genpuku**

I hope this chapter explains why Yahiko was so seemingly uncaring about Kenji's understandable wish to fight alongside him. Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing! Especially to **Hitokiri Jinchuu** and **Murasaki 1/2** for your comments and prompting! It keeps me on track.

**Chapter Seven:  
A Moment for Us**

* * *

The only thing about being married was that, unless the husband was having an affair, had been _caught_ having an affair, or, in their case, was afraid of bleeding onto his wife, he was expected to sleep in the same bed as her. It wasn't that Yahiko disliked sleeping with Tsubame; the complete opposite, he very much liked sleeping with her, even in just the literal sense of the word.

There were just sometimes he wished he could toss and turn, throw off the covers, and pace around the room without disrupting her.

He wasn't trying to replace Kenshin, as Kenji had accused; replacing Kenshin had never been the goal. Being someone Kenshin could trust and rely on, someone who could stand on his own and fight for his beliefs, that was always the goal. Following in Kenshin's footsteps; then one day stepping out from behind to stand—walk—fight—beside him; then, in the end, to surpass him and step out in front and on his own…_that_ was the goal. Sano had succeeded, in his own way. Yahiko would some day do the same.

Was that arrogance? To believe in himself so fully as to think he could ever be 'better' than Kenshin? To willingly take the jobs offered, knowing the risks involved and the price not only he, but everyone around him, could potentially have to pay should he fail? To put some government official—no, the very institution of government itself—before his own life, before the happiness and security of Tsubame, the one person he'd ever loved more than anyone in the world? To do that, and then deny Kenji the same. Was that arrogance?

Well, yeah. It was arrogance. Yahiko nearly laughed aloud. But that arrogance was balanced by a sense of duty, responsibility, justice, and a need to honor his promise to Kenshin and Kaoru to keep their children safe while they were away. Letting their eldest son accompany him on dangerous missions where either one, or both, of them could very well lose his life wasn't the smartest way Yahiko could think of to keep Kenji safe.

Arrogance. Yahiko shook his head, slightly, and smiled into the darkness of the room. He knew he was arrogant, but he knew also he had reason to be. He'd learned the final technique of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu at age ten. He'd fought alongside the most legendary swordsmen in the country. He wore the kanji for evil on his back, inherited from one of the strongest men Yahiko had ever met—and if Sagara Sanosuke wasn't the walking epitome of arrogance, then who was? It didn't excuse his behavior any, didn't make it _okay_ for him to be arrogant, but Yahiko had come a long way in changing arrogance to confidence, blind cockiness into skill-based pride. He was the way he was, and he had his reasons.

He didn't let any of that interfere with his fighting, though. When he practiced, at the dojo, he kept himself in the mindset that he always had something to learn from his partner, no matter how experienced they were. When he fought, using the sakabatou Kenshin had given him on his fifteenth birthday, the crucial point was to defeat his opponent, live or die. He couldn't afford to be arrogant, to even think about arrogance. Fighting was about focus, skill, speed, endurance, determination, sometimes teamwork, and a little bit of luck.

A lot of luck.

"Yahiko-kun?" Yahiko turned his head to see Tsubame roll onto her side, her hand reaching out to run gently over his ribs, her fingers unerringly finding just where it hurt most to soothe with her touch.

"Sorry. Did I wake you up?" He sighed as the throbbing lessened under her tender strokes, and smiled faintly at her in apology. "I was just thinking I wanted to go pace."

She shook her head, her hair tumbling into her eyes. "I couldn't sleep either." Her breath caught, a quick, ticklish inhale, as his hand slid low over her hip, mirroring her touch. "Are your injuries hurting?"

He couldn't deny that, but they weren't the reason he couldn't sleep. "My side mainly is what's giving me the most trouble." The deep leg wound and the shallow gash in his arm barely bothered him as long as he was careful not to strain them, but his ribs ached constantly. "But that's not what's bothering me."

"I know," she said, and she did. The depth and breadth of what she understood about him so often took his breath away. "Kenji does love you, you know."

Yahiko couldn't help the sad little scowl that crossed his face at that. "I know." It was a sullen mutter, hurt because of Kenji's reaction to what, in his mind, was the only reaction he could have given. He tried to shake off the feeling and repeated on a sigh, "I know. I'm not worried that he'll hate me for it forever. He'll be upset—I would be, I _was_, in the same situation—and he'll probably sulk and refuse to talk to me for a while, but in the end he'll get over it. It's not in his nature to hold a grudge. He's like Kaoru; he doesn't hold grudges well. I don't know if he'll ever really forgive me, but maybe one day he'll understand. I never thought I'd be in the position where…where it'd be like telling myself 'no'." He sighed again, heavier. "We'll move on, somehow, in any case."

Tsubame slid her hand up Yahiko's side, over to slip under the loose collar of his yukata to press her palm against smooth, bare skin, feel the steady beat of his heart, so big, so troubled, beneath her skin. "You don't have to be Kenshin-san," she murmured, knowing without needing to be told what was bothering him. She leaned closer to press a kiss against his throat, just under his jaw. "I love you because you _aren't_ Kenshin-san. You understand what Kenji-kun's going through, and so you can help him through this."

This time it was Yahiko who said, "I know." He also knew Tsubame was trying to distract him, to relax him, to let him sleep, and welcome as her distraction would be, a part of him resisted, still wanted to brood and pace. But his heart leapt when Tsubame rolled closer, snuggling carefully up to his good side, and her teeth nibbled daintily at the skin on the side of his neck. "But I never thought I'd ever be in Kenshin's position, where I have to tell him 'no'. I know what it's like to be told not to come, but…I did the same thing Kenshin did to me all those years ago. Kenji knows there's danger out there; he only wants to help, and who knows, maybe he might be able to. But I've rendered him helpless and useless and unwanted by telling him 'no'. I can't afford to risk him. Not like this, not for this."

He knew what it felt like to be left behind, indeed. The memory was as fresh and clear as if it had been only earlier that same evening; the years had afforded him the objectivity to view that event as the catalyst of his real growing up, but the time that had passed hadn't dulled the shock and pain—the tears—that had knifed through him. That feeling of inadequacy, standing just outside the dojo gate all night, with the image of Kenshin's fleeing back burning into his consciousness, would live with him forever.

He'd wanted only to help, and Kenshin had told him 'no'.

"You had good reasons." Tsubame's voice wasn't placating, which Yahiko knew she understood would only irritate him rather than help. "Kenji-kun _is_ a good swordsman, like he said, but he'll have his chance to fight for his beliefs later. He doesn't belong in this fight, against people trying to ruin our government. Kenshin-san did that for him—for all of us. Kenji-kun isn't part of that, of that past."

As always, her astute observations both startled him and warmed his heart. His hand moved to cup her cheek, tilting her face to his for a long, lingering kiss. Tsubame was blushing and breathless when he leaned back, her lips parted slightly, her eyes soft and sleepy with contentment. His voice was serious when he spoke.

"I sort of half-expect Kenji to do something rash in response to my telling him he can't come with me. It's hard living up to Kenshin's name, and it's not a task I envy him. I feel bad leaving like this and asking you to take care of him, but tomorrow afternoon I'm going back to the station to meet with Chief Uramura to plan out a course of action." He heaved out a breath. "Times like these I wish Sano were back, or at least Yutaro weren't in Germany right now."

His one-time rival now shared with him the title of 'master' of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu—well, Yutarou was more 'assistant' master. Their uneasy feud was resolved into a friendship heightened by frequent verbal and physical sparring, mainly in playful jest…but sparring nonetheless. Yutarou had accompanied Yahiko on a couple previous jobs with the police but had been in Germany for the past year. He came to Japan as often as work allowed, and Yahiko found himself missing the little pain sometimes in-between the long breaks when Yutarou was away.

Sometimes.

Yahiko slid his hand down Tsubame's arm, to link his fingers with hers. He brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. His throat tightened, and he had to fight to speak the next words. "Tsubame…Tomorrow morning, before the meeting, there's going to be a service for the police officer who died saving me. I was thinking…it'd be nice if you could be there, too. You know him." Faint puzzlement flickered across Tsubame's face, followed quickly by an instinctive flash of fear, sadness—there were few policemen she knew, but she would grieve peremptorily for whichever one had passed away.

Tears burned, viciously hot, in Yahiko's eyes, the words choked as he whispered, "Shinichi. It was Shinichi. He's got…He _had_…a wife, two kids, and she's pregnant with their third. He died so I could live, and give us a better chance of taking these guys out for good." Tsubame shifted, and Yahiko had one moment to battle back the tears before her arms came around him, so gentle, so strong, and she pulled him carefully into her embrace.

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, pillowing his head on her chest and letting the tears he'd fought to hide pour forth. "Oh, Kami-sama, Tsubame. _Shinichi._"

Tsubame hadn't known Shinichi Kosaburou well; she'd only met him a handful of times, because Yahiko tried his hardest to keep his police work from touching his home life. But she liked the young lieutenant based on those few times she'd met him. The first time she remembered meeting him was when she had delivered a large order of catered dishes to a nice-sized house in a quiet neighborhood. Yahiko had accompanied her, part bodyguard, part deliver boy, and had been surprised when he recognized the man who opened the door with a two-year-old balanced on his hip.

Yahiko had known Shinichi longer, off and on since he was ten. Tsubame must have seen him then, too, that fateful day in the long summer of Meiji Eleven, but she had no distinct memory of him, of his face, even though she'd been there when Yahiko had first met him. She'd been more preoccupied with Yahiko and what he'd been about to tell her than thinking about the policeman they'd just run into.

They were close, as work buddies went; Tsubame knew Yahiko might go out with him for a drink after a job, but they weren't anything like Kenshin-san and Sanosuke-san had been.

And he had died so Yahiko would live.

Yahiko nestled a little closer to her, bringing back Tsubame's wandering thoughts, and she knew the sharpest edge of grief had passed. His grip on her shifted, more of an actual embrace rather than clutching at her shoulders. She pressed her lips to his temple and answered his old invitation. "Of course I'll go to the service for Shinichi-san. I was going to go by our apartment tomorrow, anyway, to check up on things, so we can do that when we stop by for our formal clothes. We'll have to leave the children with Tae-san at the Akabeko during the service."

Gratitude infused Yahiko's voice. "Thank you." _For understanding._ Tsubame's mouth slipped over his face to tease with lips and teeth and tongue, rolling him onto his back and shifting over him to straddle his waist. Careful not to bump his ribs or his bruises, she settled her weight over him and spread her hands flat over his chest beneath the opening in his yukata. Yahiko still wanted to brood, to let his mind run over plans and possibilities; he wanted to grieve until he fell unconscious into the pit of sleep.

But Tsubame's mouth was hot, and it teased and tormented, and promised, and her hands were busy as they tugged at the sash tying his yukata closed, spread the interfering garment aside, and moved lower.

"Tsubame—" His voice was strangled, and his mind flashed white, burned empty of all rational thought, his body arched avidly against her loving touch as her hands moved beneath the folds of his yukata.

"Shh, shh." Her mouth on his gentled to soothe, and her eyes gleamed through the dark with a tenderness that simply took his breath away. "Easy, Yahiko-kun. I love you. Tonight, let me." Her words were sweet entreaty, ardent promise, and so frighteningly sincere Yahiko could feel his heart stumble. "Let me love you, Yahiko-kun. I love you, so much."

And when her mouth skimmed down his chest, lower, lower; when Yahiko's breath gasped out on a low, shuddering groan that shimmered through Tsubame's body and soul; when finally, _finally_, all the tension exploded, drained out of him and the last of his worries dissipated into the night, Yahiko blinked back sudden tears of perfection and thought, _Kami-sama, Tsubame. I love you, too._

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Tsubame woke slowly, vaguely away of a nagging discomfort in her lower back. She shifted slowly, mindful not to wake Yahiko, and rose gracefully to her knees beside him. She'd fallen asleep with her head pillowed against his uninjured right side, scrunched up uncomfortably beside him with one foot hanging off the edge of the futon on the floor.

He was sleeping peacefully, his face lax and unguarded in sleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. Tsubame could watch him sleep for hours and never tire of it. He was always so independent and strong when he was awake; it was as if the only time she could ever truly watch over him was when he was asleep, all vulnerable and cute.

He needed his rest for the upcoming fight, both physically and emotionally. The tears Tsubame had hid earlier trailed soundlessly down her cheeks now, and she lifted her sleeve to her face so the treacherous drops wouldn't fall onto Yahiko and wake him. _Shinichi-san…_Yahiko had talked about him, as he'd talked precious little about his police jobs and what they entailed. There was pride in his words whenever he spoke of Shinichi, and admiration and affection. In a way, though they weren't especially close, Shinichi was the friend Yahiko had known the longest. Together they'd been through some harrowing experiences, together they had fought the man known as Kujiranami during the summer of Yukishiro Enishi's revenge, and that had forged a bond between them stronger than any other.

The summer of Tsubame's eleventh year was one of the longest and hardest in memory—first, with Yahiko and everyone gone to Kyoto to fight the faceless threat that was Shishio Makoto, who she'd never seen and never would; then with Yukishiro Enishi and his revenge, the death and devastation his plan for revenge wrecked. It had been the first of many, countless many, times Yahiko had left her to risk his life for others.

It was the only time he'd apologized.

But you only said you're sorry if you meant it, and Yahiko was nothing if not honest. He'd learned growing up that you didn't make a promise you couldn't keep, and you never say anything you don't mean.

After that first time, he'd never apologized again for putting others—nameless, unidentified "others"—before her, because you only say you regret your actions if you truly are repentant for what you've done.

And if you were truly repentant, if you really are sorry…then you wouldn't keep doing it, over and over again.

* * *

Written: 7.26.06

Author's Notes: Slight Jinchuu Arc spoilers, if you haven't read it…Shinichi Kosaburou is a low-level police officer introduced in the Jinchuu, or Revenge, Arc of the manga series. In Book 25, he and Yahiko fight Kujiranami, an ex-samurai who fought Kenshin. Yahiko runs off to fight, and Tsubame tells him that nobody's around to protect him. In return, Yahiko says, "_Because_ nobody else is around, I have to fight. I'm sorry…but it's something I've decided, to fight for those weaker than me, people I see who are suffering." That's the gist of it.

_Glossary:  
Kami-sama: "God"  
-kun: affectionate suffix for males  
Sakabatou: Kenshin's reverse-blade sword  
-san: polite suffix; "Mr./Mrs./Ms."_


	8. Day of Destiny, Minus One : Morning

**Genpuku**

Contemplating a Yahiko-Tsubame angst/drama/romance fic set when he's sixteen and she's seventeen. It fits in with the historical timeline of this fic. (See profile for the tentative summary.) It might mean I take a short hiatus from Genpuku after Chapter 11, which is already handwritten and is awaiting transcription to the computer, while I get it off the ground. Sorry if this chapter is shorter than those preceding.

**Chapter Eight:  
Day of Destiny, Minus One – Morning**

* * *

Nobu knew there was trouble brewing. He was aware of much more than people credited him with. Because he was quiet, they assumed he didn't notice things. He didn't mind letting them think that, if that's what they wanted. He just really didn't see the point of always saying what he saw or thought. His dad knew he picked up on a lot of things, and Nobu knew he'd gotten his perceptiveness from his father's side. But he was good at reading people emotionally as well, and that was definitely from his mom.

Right now, both senses were telling him that things with Kenji were…uneasy, to put it mildly. Nobu sat with Hina in the dojo, watching Kenji practice on his own while Tsubame cleaned and redressed Yahiko's wounds before they left for the morning.

Kenji's shinai moved with practiced ease, but the sound of the bamboo blade slashing through the air was dangerous and angry, each move deliberate in a way that spoke of a fury that held the muscles rigid, not relaxed as they should be. Kenji often worked his anger off this way, so normally Nobu wouldn't have thought anything much of it, only now Kenji was approaching eight hundred swings and his ire hadn't lessened any.

_That_ was worrisome.

Suppositions about the cause of his bad mood aside—Nobu had a good idea that Kenji's foul humor since the day before had something to do with Yahiko-nii's most recent police job, though how that was connected to Kenji Nobu wasn't quite sure—there was a very real danger that Kenji would strain something being too tense while practicing. The last thing he'd want was his little brother's advice, but Nobu had nearly convinced himself to speak up against his better judgment when the dojo doors slid open.

Kenji was just lowering his shinai when he saw Yahiko in the doorway, then seemed to change his mind about stopping, as if that gave Yahiko too much importance, and renewed his solo practice with vigor.

Yahiko ignored him and, bowing respectfully as he entered, walked over to where Nobu and Hina sat. He scooped the little girl into his arms, grinning as she snuggled into him. "We're leaving for town soon, so we should go get our coats on. I'm off to the station to talk to Mr. Mustache—" it was Hina's nickname for Chief Uramura, and so much more endearing and less smart-alecky than when Sano had used the name "—this afternoon. This morning, we're going to have you help Tae at the Akabeko while Tsubame-nee and I are busy, then she'll be by to have lunch with you, all right?"

He tickled Hina's nose, and she nodded, laughing as he set her back down. Yahiko straightened and looked over at Kenji, noting, as Nobu had, the stiffened shoulders that would no doubt give the boy trouble the next day. But he just said, "We're leaving in ten minutes, Kenji."

"I don't want to go."

It was a sullen, muttered challenge, and Yahiko merely lifted one eyebrow, impassive. There was a time to give in and indulge the boy, and there was a time to meet stubbornness head-on.

"Ten minutes," Yahiko repeated, in a tone of voice was that implacable and bored. And without giving Kenji a chance to respond, he walked out of the dojo.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Stupid Yahiko."

Kenji hauled a bucket of mysteriously heavy vegetable waste out of the back door of the kitchen at the Akabeko and dragged it across the yard to the heap in the corner. His shoulders ached a little, making the job more difficult than it should have been, and Kenji's scowl deepened. He'd known he'd been tense when practicing earlier that day, but the soreness in his muscles was just downright annoying. If Yahiko hadn't been watching him, he wouldn't have been so edgy.

The infuriating, logical corner of his mind reminded him that it wasn't Yahiko's fault he hadn't stretched properly before practice. _Besides,_ it whispered nastily, _you were tense before he even came in, and he wasn't there to stare at you._

"But he interrupted my practice." The grumble was mainly out of reflexive, defensive response; he'd been ready to stop when Yahiko had gone in, anyway, but had stubbornly decided to allow the coincidental timing to go to Yahiko's benefit.

It wasn't fair, really, to blame Yahiko. Kenji knew that. Knowing that had kept him tossing and turning half the night—and pacing around his room the other half. By the time he'd finally managed to fall into an exhausted sleep, it was well into the midnight hours, and he woke up feeling as if he'd gotten a refreshing five full minutes of rest.

Knowing it wasn't fair couldn't quite stop him from shoveling on the blame, though, and that was a lot easier than accepting that everything Yahiko had said to him was true.

"Give me a break." Kenji slopped the last of the vegetable peels and rinds and edges on the top of the compost heap and let his head fall back to stare up at the sky. It was gray, like it usually was in the winter, with thick clouds skirting the endless expanse. Usually looking at the sky made Kenji feel better—he felt small in the face of such infinity, and so along, but at the same time, huge and powerful, like hew as the only living being in the world.

It wasn't working today, and Kenji gave up trying to be mature and understanding about Yahiko. He wanted to sulk. He kicked at a clod of dirt, sending it exploding across the flagstone walkway as he headed back towards the Akabeko, wishing he didn't feel a pan gof guilt for the extra work he'd just made for whoever had to sweep the back patio.

"I'm only fourteen. I have a right to be selfish and angry once in a while." He could be responsible later, when he was older, right? _Right._ Even his father had been fourteen once, and nobody—not even someone like his dad—could have been always thinking about others when he was so young.

Not even Kenshin. Not even Yahiko.

"Stupid Yahiko." There, now he was in a fine old sour mood, and Kenji enjoyed the childishness of the act even as part of him rolled its eyes and groaned. _Grow _up_, Kenji._

And, because it made him feel better—worse—he said it again. "Stupid Yahiko!"

The voice that spoke in the following silence had Kenji jolting and whipping around, nerves tingling at the unexpected presence in a combination of surprise, instinctive fear and suspicion, and an unpleasant layer of distrust and immediate dislike.

"Yes…stupid Yahiko, indeed."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

There were many different types of tears. Silent ones, loud ones, the kind you fought to hold back, the kind that fell endlessly and unstoppably. At the next-day service for Shinichi Kosaburou, there was evidence of all those tears, and more. Throughout the service that took place in the conservatively-sized but well-appointed central room of the Shinichi house, the wails and oppressive grief of the mourners who had packed in to say good-bye to friend, co-worker, and relative filled the incense-scented air. In-between choked pockets of voiced grief was a silence, heavy with memories of a man who had so much to live for but who had died instead.

Tsubame found herself standing with the widow in the miserable cold that no exterior source of warmth could dispel at the end of the service. The other mourners were moving, milling around, dissipating from the crammed living room to the hallways and the chilly outdoors to talk in low voices about the deceased, about the ones he'd left behind, about nothing and everything. The ceremony was officially over, and now all that was left was to remember what once had been.

Her name was Shinichi Mieko, and she was a lovely woman, slender and delicate, with an oval face and slanting dark brown eyes. Those eyes were framed now with long lashes dark with dampness, swollen and rimmed with evidence of a night spent full of longing and regrets for the happiness that had once been. The delicacy had resolved itself into fragility, and she looked translucent, as if she were only half there. It was a hard jolt to see her pregnant belly, rounded beneath the stark, formal kimono, to see the evidence of life despite the remembrance of death surrounding them.

"Why'd he have to be such a hero?" Mieko's voice was thin, and Tsubame turned to look at her, but the other woman was staring at the small Buddhist altar adorned with fresh flowers. "They said…They said he could have been alive if he hadn't jumped out to protect Yahiko-san." There was no anger, no vindictiveness in her voice when she spoke, but Tsubame was ready to bow and apologize anyway when she continued, almost to herself, "He didn't do it for Yahiko-san, though."

Understanding came swiftly, and Tsubame felt her throat tighten painfully. "I know," she murmured, and watched as Shinichi's older brother drifted towards them in the room, hesitating at the far end to give them privacy. Her gaze turned to the small memorial for Shinichi standing on the top of the household shrine before her, and her heart ached for the latest life claimed by the Meiji Era. The overt fighting had ended nearly three decades before, but lives were being lost every day in the struggle to balance good and bad. "I know."

Shinichi hadn't died for Yahiko. He was a policeman, in the truest and most honorable sense of the world. He'd died for the good of the people, to protect the people as best he could. And he'd given up his life to ensure they had the best chance of being protected—by Yahiko.

Tsubame bowed, and apologized anyway. "Doomo sumimasen, Shinichi-san."

Mieko looked straight at Tsubame, her hands linked protectively over her belly, over the life that stirred within. For one moment, clarity burned through the grief-coated shock in her eyes, and Mieko returned both gesture and words in humble and truthful kind. When she straightened, her gaze was clouded again with tears that refused to fall, but her voice was strong. "It is I who should apologize, for now Yahiko-san has the heaviest burden of us all. Tonight, I'll comfort my daughters and worry about raising our children without their father, think about our unborn baby and when the time will come to tell them the truth about their father's life…and his death.

"Tomorrow, Yahiko-san will go out to fight, like we know he will, and he'll carry the weight of the knowledge that he has to succeed, to do what Kosaburou died to let him live to do."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Kenji stared at the man standing at the back gate to the yard. Only his torso from the waist up was visible behind the closed half-door. He was wearing a white Western-style collared shirt and a long leather coat. He was tall but a bit stocky, but with his build masked by the coat, Kenji couldn't tell if it was from general body type, fat, or muscle. His face was sturdy, with a broad, clean-shaven jaw and short, dark brown hair. His mouth was on the thin side, but it was curved upwards, faintly, and turned his entire expression from borderline homely into something almost affable.

And the smile in his eyes was anything but friendly.

As it was sort of creeping Kenji out, he asked, "Um, may I help you?" Patrons, and people in general, didn't tend to use the back gate. Deliveries came through the back and were carted directly to the kitchens, but mostly people didn't really know it even existed. It led to a narrow little alley that ran between the Akabeko and the neighboring business and, other than daytime deliveries that were rerouted to not interrupt the patrons' meals, were mainly just for weekly trash retrieval.

The man smiled that odd smile. "Oh, I just happened to be walking by and overheard your comments. It sounds like this Yahiko fellow is giving you some trouble. You know him well?"

Suspicion passed over Kenji's face, but he carefully kept it masked behind an expression of polite inquiry. As long as he wore the apron, he was, after all, representing the Akabeko, and—as Tae was always instructing them—people were business. But his hand tightened on the handle of the bucket, and he wished it were his shinai instead. He'd have felt so much better if he were armed.

The strange sense of disease made him even less talkative with strangers than usual, and Kenji was almost as taciturn as Nobu when it came to conversing with people he didn't know. "Sort of."

"My, my, a bit terse, are we?" The man chuckled, and for a moment he didn't seem quite so intimidating as humor danced through his eyes. "Older brother figures can be so irritating sometimes, can't they?"

Kenji was under the impression the man was trying to get him to rise to the bait, but it was no difficult task for him to resist. Instead he shrugged and shifted, careful to keep his weight balanced. Despite the distance between them and the closed half-gate between them, Kenji knew it always paid to take precautions. "Well, I'd better get back to work." Kenji turned, feeling tension run through his shoulders as he exposed his back to the stranger. While he didn't make a habit of talking to strangers, they usually didn't mind him much—they couldn't, when he came into contact with them all the time, whenever there were new students at the dojo, when a new customer came into the Akabeko. They were strangers, after all. He was careful when he dealt with them, but this paranoia, this particular stranger, was being to weird him out.

The man still sounded like he was teasing as he spoke to Kenji's retreating figure. "So serious and hard-working. Wait, you look familiar. You must be one of the Himura boys. Kenshin and Kaoru's oldest."

"Yeah." Pride suffused Kenji's voice unconsciously, and he straightened his shoulders without thinking as he turned back to face the man. Anyone who meant him harm wouldn't so blatantly use his father's name, and even though the answer was obvious, he asked anyway. "You know my dad?"

"Not personally," the man admitted easily. "Through name and reputation only. I had the pleasure of being in the streets years ago, probably when you'd just been born, when he was working with the police to apprehend one particular thief. He did some nice work, with our mutual friend Yahiko's help."

_Yahiko._ It was always Yahiko, wasn't it? Even as the scowl passed briefly over Kenji's face, that uncomfortable feeling of unease swept through him again, and he rocked his weight subtly onto the balls of his feet, just to be safe. The man had one hand resting casually on the top of the gate, the other at his side and out of sight. It was absurd to think the man might be holding a gun; not only would it be outrageous to try to shoot Kenji here, where people in the streets and in the Akabeko would hear and coming running immediately, the man was a weirdo, that's all. He didn't look like a murderer.

Still. There was something in his voice, in his eyes, in the way he said "mutual friend" that gave the indication that he and Yahiko weren't so much friends as…less than pleasant acquaintances, somehow.

Kenji looked at the man and wondered once again what he was doing there. He wasn't dressed like he were out for a midday walk, and if he were a businessman, he should have been in his office at that time of the day—too early for the lunch hour and way too late to be starting the work day. A cold feeling of foreboding washed over him. Did this man have something against Kenji? No, Kenji shook his head as he lifted a hand in what he hoped was a casual, if firm, good-bye. No, he didn't have enemies, not of any sort that would warrant creeps coming after him. But the man knew Yahiko, and Kenshin. Was there something bad going on?

As he slid open the door to the kitchens to return to his chores, welcoming the rush of normalcy, Kenji resolved to tell Yahiko what he'd seen. They might not have been on good terms, but they were best friends, brothers. This was for Yahiko to deal with.

And much as he was loathe to admit it, Kenji knew when he was in over his head.

* * *

Written: 7.28.06

Author's Notes: Cultural note…In America, it's common practice to extend sympathies for a lost loved one with the words "I'm sorry (for your loss)". In Japanese, however, the direct translation "doomo sumimasen" indicates that the speaker is somehow responsible for the dead person's death. In most cases, therefore, people don't say that (foreigners sometimes, but _never_ a native speaker). Here, however, it's quite appropriate in the given context.

I hope Kenji doesn't appear too bipolar…I'm trying to portray him fairly, but if you think the shift is too drastic, please don't hesitate to let me know! Thank you!

_Glossary:  
Doomo sumimasen: "I'm very sorry"  
-nee: an affectionate suffix for an older sister  
-nii: an affectionate suffix for an older brother  
-san: polite suffix; "Mr./Mrs./Ms."  
Shinai: bamboo sword used in practice_


	9. Day of Destiny, Minus One : Afternoon

**Genpuku**

Major Jinchuu Arc spoilers. If you haven't read Book 24, be forewarned!

**Chapter Nine:  
Day of Destiny, Minus One – Afternoon**

* * *

The police station was dark and somber the afternoon of Lieutenant Shinichi's service. He was well-liked and well-respected among his peers, and his passing was a hard loss to the Tokyo police force. Officers wore black beneath their regulation issue jackets and pants, and some of the higher-ranking officials wore formal suits in silent mourning.

But work—and life—went on. It was out of respect for Shinichi as much as out of necessity and duty to the people that they carried on, tamping down on their emotions and forcing themselves to do the job he'd died doing. Petty criminals were arrested, patrols went out and came in, crimes were investigated, paperwork was done, but throughout it all, over and under it all, were shades of grief.

Yahiko sat with Chief Uramura and the head tactical officer and PR person, Monji Kousuke, at a long table usually reserved for board meetings. They sat at one end of the table, clustered around a map, and were silent as a junior officer served the two policemen large mugs of coffee and left Yahiko a pot of ocha. Coffee was another Western import he'd never acquired a taste for, just another reminder that the times were changing and he wasn't changing with them.

They still wore their formal clothes, having come straight to the station from the service. Tsubame had gone to the Akabeko to help Tae and watch the children, and they had agreed to meet there when Yahiko was done. Tsubame had promised, with a shy smile, to keep his lunch warm until he arrived.

Both Yahiko and Chief Uramura wore dark hakama and gray gi, with a formal black haori on top. Tactical officer Kousuke was a couple years older than Yahiko but had grown up in Yokohama, the center of new influence from the West, and he wore a dark gray suit with a black necktie—the image of the modern Japanese man.

The junior officer serving them set out a small plate of cookies and then left, closing the door behind him for privacy.

Chief Uramura dragged in a breath, let it go slowly. "That was harder than I'd thought, and it's always hard to say good-bye to one of your own."

Yahiko didn't say anything, wrapped up in his own thoughts, and let Kousuke respond. This was the first service he'd ever been to—the first next-day service, that is. His own parents hadn't been rich enough to receive a real service, and other than them, he hadn't known anyone who'd died. Not until the summer of Meiji Eleven and everything that had gone on—Yukishiro Enishi, hellbent on revenge; the fight at the dojo; Kaoru's 'body' found pinned to the wall, cross-shaped scar carved into her left cheek. He'd gone to 'Kaoru's' funeral service, when she'd been all prettied up for the next life, but he'd been unconscious and recuperating from his wounds at the hospital when they'd held the next-day service for her.

Saying good-bye was hard. So was moving on.

But it was necessary, and it was all they could do. Yahiko cleared his throat, gently interrupting the chief's painful reminiscing about Shinichi's life and contributions. "Chief Uramura…I don't mean any disrespect, but Shinichi died so we could carry on and do the job. Should we start laying out a plan for tomorrow?"

The older man nodded, lifting his glasses to wipe quickly at his eyes. "Of course." He coughed, businesslike, and turned his attention to the city map spread onto the tabletop in front of him, where a strand of red yarn had been pinned to through it to designate the course of the procession.

It took the next hour and a half for them to come up with a plan that satisfied all parties. The one major pain of working with the police, and the government, was the politics he had to play. Yahiko had suggested putting the official in a closed carriage instead of one with no top; not only was it probably going to be cold, sitting around for the whole parade, but it would offer at least a piddling amount of protection against long-range sniper attacks, should there be any.

But, of course, his idea was vetoed. Safety, apparently, wasn't as important as visibility. As Kousuke had pointed out, what's the point in having a tour to increase recognition among the people if he were hiding out of sight? Yahiko had wanted to ask what good it would do the people to know the man's face if they didn't have any idea of who he was or what he did for them, but he'd kept his mouth shut. What did he know about politics, anyway?

In the end, they'd managed to reach an agreement, balancing the fine line between showmanship and precaution. As always, the intricate dance left Yahiko drained and ready to tear Kousuke's head off his shoulders. Today was especially bad, his emotions already strained from the service for his friend. It wasn't really Kousuke's fault—he was just doing his job—but it was still satisfying to blame him for making the process so painful.

Yahiko stood to leave, and Chief Uramura rolled up the map after removing the line of the path the carriage would take. They wrote nothing down, as a safety measure. "I'll be by tomorrow by nine to meet with the others who will be on guard. We need everything in place by the time our protectee gets here." The actual tour through town wouldn't begin until ten-thirty, but Yahiko wanted to be absolutely sure everything was ready.

"Very good." Chief Uramura nodded to Yahiko. "We'll see you then. Oh, and Yahiko-kun?" Yahiko nodded and left. He had no intention of relaying the chief's greeting.

He never did. What would Tsubame want to do with exchanging pleasantries with the man who repeatedly convinced her husband to put himself in a position where, any day, he might die?

XXXXXXXXXXXX

His name was Inoue Masakichi. He thought big but knew he was, in reality, still just small change compared to those he'd hooked himself up with for this. Now he was part of something big, truly big, bigger even than he'd ever dreamed. It had been a risk to go to the Akabeko earlier, and he knew he could have jeopardized the entire operation, but it was a risk he'd felt compelled to take despite the consequences. The spies the boss had put at his disposal had reported that that interfering idiot Yahiko had gone to the police station, but who knew how many secret entrances and exits there were to that place? Besides, Masakichi didn't trust those spies. He didn't trust anyone. After all, you didn't rise to the top of the local underground gang by blindly trusting others.

But he'd felt a need to see that brat, Kenji, for himself. Rumor had it that the eldest Himura had some potential, and wouldn't that just be a kick in the pants? Son of Himura Kenshin, former rurouni and Meiji champion, rumored even to be the one-time Hitokiri Battousai, turned anti-government gangster and terrorist. It almost made Masakichi laugh aloud to think it. Better yet that this Himura Kenji idolized that idiot Yahiko. It was like, what was the saying, like killing two bats with one stone.

And he'd felt it, oh, he'd felt it—the kinship, the anger, the charisma—that could be such a useful addition to their group. It'd be tricky, turning the brat against everything he'd been raised to believe, everything he'd been brainwashed to think by his do-gooder father and older brother, but now was the time to act. His parents away, Yahiko preoccupied…Having Himura Kenji would be a nice bonus to deliver to the boss after what was going to go down tomorrow. A very nice bonus, indeed, Masakichi thought, eyes narrowed in calculation. Maybe enough to get him within reach of those dreams that seemed always just beyond his fingertips…

"Maa-chan?" A head popped around the doorway. "Hey, Maa-chan."

Masakichi jumped, then let out a snarl, slamming his open hand down onto the desk. "Don't _call_ me that! Dammit, Tak, how many times have I told you not to call me that? I'm not three years old anymore."

Inoue Takashi grinned, his handsome face glowing with laughter. They were really half-brothers, sharing the same mother. She'd married Masakichi's father after Takashi's had been killed in jail during one of his many year-long stints for petty crimes. There was little family resemblance between the two. Takashi was leaner and, some ways, meaner than his younger brother, with lively gray-brown eyes and hair like black silk kept neat over his narrow, aesthetic face with sharp cheekbones and a long jaw. For some reason, though many believed him to be the more competent of the Inoue brothers, he was more than comfortable letting Masakichi be the leader while he was the confidant and right-hand man.

"Sorry." His grin belied the sincerity of his words, though, and he sauntered into the room with the loose-hipped, long-legged gait of one of those Western cowboys Masakichi had seen in an imported movie the week before. Takashi deposited himself in the chair across the desk from Masakichi's more elaborate reclining seat, unperturbed by the obvious contrast in power and control.

"Spies reported in. Yahiko left the station and is heading for that restaurant, the Akabeko. The kids and his woman are still there. I left Taro and Jiro on them, but they seem to be staying put for a while."

"Good. Good." Masakichi let Takashi get off easy for calling him by his much disliked childhood nickname—this time—only because he'd pulled through on his job. As always. Masakichi knew he indulged his brother, perhaps too much. He let Takashi get off every time.

He tapped the end of the pen in his left hand against the desktop as his mind turned back to the more serious issue of dealing with that Yahiko—as well as Kenji. He'd waited so long for this moment, for his revenge, it was difficult to resist the urge to act now. But rash action now would only destroy well-laid plans. He hadn't risen to the rank he now graced by acting on every rash impulse.

But he met his brother's eyes across the table with a coldness that counterbalanced Takashi's humor. "We follow the plan, and take him out tomorrow." He didn't trust anyone—not even his own older brother. Takashi didn't need to know about Kenji. That was one issue Masakichi would tackle on his own. "But that doesn't mean we don't keep him on his toes."

Takashi's grin only grew as Masakichi outlined the simple plan for ensuring that Yahiko would be as off-balance as possible the next day.

Tomorrow. When years of waiting would finally pay off, and he'd have his revenge!

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Yahiko came to the Akabeko, but Kenji didn't have a chance to talk to him before the older man was swept into the bustle of the business. Almost before he'd had time to change—he managed to eat the meal Tsubame had had warming for him while he changed out of his formal wear and into his everyday gi and hakama—Tae had him out on a delivery to accompany Tsubame. More and more often now, Tae let Kenji go with Tsubame on deliveries while Yahiko stayed behind at the store, but there was something up.

Again.

Kenji was pretty sure it had something to do with the latest police job—everything seemed to be about the police job, which was just weird. Before, the job was a side thing, and Yahiko went about life as usual. But this time, with his and Yahiko's fight and what else was going on, the creepy guy out back, there was definitely something up.

Right after Tsubame had shown up, Tae had bundled Tsubame into the tiny private office in back and locked them in for a long time. When they'd come out, Tae's face was set in worried lines, and Kenji knew she and Tsubame were keeping a closer eye than usual on him and his siblings. So Kenji, in turn, was more aware of his surroundings and of the patrons that came in. It was probably why he'd been so edgy when the weirdo had greeted him in the back yard. Everyone was tense, that's all.

It was early yet in the afternoon, and the Akabeko was busy. If Tae was worried, she hid it well as she bustled around to keep patrons happy and keep business good. They were usually busy, and they were always packed in winter, whether it was mealtime or not. Even though Tsubame was hostess, with her on delivery, Tae had reassumed the duties temporarily. Now she spent more and more of her time with finances or with the longtime patrons and let Tsubame handle newer ones, but Tae was, in the end, a businesswoman, and a very successful one at that.

Kenji was glad he didn't have to wear the outrageous frilly apron the female waitresses did; he and Nobu had plain ones without the excess ruffles over the shoulders. He remembered Yahiko telling him a story once, when he was younger, of Yahiko traveling to Kyoto and being put to work at the Shirobeko, the Akabeko's twin, and being forced to wear not only the apron but a silly hair ribbon, too.

It made him laugh to imagine.

Nobu helped more in the kitchens than on the floor, assisting the cooks, and Hina sort of did whatever she could. Oftentimes the regular patrons would ask her for silly requests, just to give her something to do when she asked if there was anything they needed—a clean napkin or another set of chopsticks or a glass of water. Kenji's work was limited to one area or another; sometimes he felt like the do-all guy, from emptying trash to washing dishes to greeting guests and counting change. Yahiko split his time between working as an extra chef and working with Kenji, doing the same chores. He'd explained that that had been his job when he'd first started working part-time at the Akabeko, and he liked it.

"A bit of variety," he'd said with a wink at Kenji. "We're the ones who keep the Akabeko running smoothly, because without us running all the chores, who else would they rely on?"

It was always more fun with Yahiko around. Yahiko never complained, and he made every task seem enjoyable. If they had to haul up a half-dozen buckets of water from the well in the freezing snow in the dead of winter, Yahiko would tell Kenji a story of the time he'd gone ice skating and had fallen through the surface. "Now _that_ is what cold is!" he would laugh, and help take Kenji's mind off the chore. If they had to haul in a delivery of eggplants, he'd sing some silly children's song his mother had sung to him once—something about eggplants having a party under the flowering trees. If they had to greet guests, Yahiko would manage to make some sort of comment—often of the less-than-polite kind—to Kenji behind their back as he showed them to their seats.

Kenji didn't like being at odds with Yahiko. He was really bad at holding grudges, a trait Yahiko and his dad had once agreed he'd inherited from his mother.

It was a scary thought. Kenji could only hope he wasn't as, well, _bipolar_ as she sometimes seemed.

Making up with Yahiko meant he'd have to forgive him, though. Forgive him for saying he'd never be as good as his father. Forgive him for refusing to let him fight. Did Yahiko not trust him? Was he not good enough for him? It would be easiest to say Yahiko was just being selfish, but Kenji knew that wasn't true.

Yahiko would never be selfish when it came to protecting the lives of others.

"He doesn't need to protect me," Kenji muttered under his breath as he rang up the bill for table six. "I don't need protecting."

Yahiko, on the other hand…right now, Kenji had the feeling that Yahiko did.

* * *

Written: 7.30.06

Author's Notes: Maa-chan is the cutesy shortened form of "Masa-", from Masakichi. Maa-chan is also the childhood nickname of my boyfriend, who doesn't know he has a namesake character in my fic (he's the villain, no less!) It's absolutely insignificant.

_Glossary:  
Gi: traditional Japanese shirt  
Hakama: traditional Japanese pants  
-kun: affectionate suffix for males_


	10. Day of Destiny, Minus One : Evening

**Genpuku**

I've decided include fewer terms in the glossary at the end of the chapter; all it does is unnecessarily inflate my word count. I will include only new terms introduced in this chapter, and unfamiliar or little-used words. If anyone would like to me reintroduce the full-length glossary – if you've found it helpful – please let me know and I will be happy to include it in future chapters. Thanks!

This is my longest chapter. (4100+ words) Yay!

**Chapter Ten:  
Day of Destiny, Minus One – Evening**

* * *

Night came quickly in the winter, and evening shadows were already lengthening over the path when their family headed home to the dojo for the night. They had stopped off at Yahiko and Tsubame's modest apartment to put away the formal clothes they'd worn to the service for the policeman who'd died the day before. Yahiko had let the lease run out on the small apartment Sanosuke had left him when he and Tsubame had gotten married, wanting a slightly larger place to live—in a nicer neighborhood. As Yahiko had said, he didn't mind the darker element there, but he wanted something better for Tsubame, something safer.

So they'd moved to a more upscale neighborhood, still small enough that the rent was affordable for them, and close enough to the dojo that it was easy for Yahiko to dash back and forth for practice.

They were finally on the last bit of road before Kenji could get off his tired, aching feet for the first time since lunchtime. They'd had to stop by the market on the way home so Tsubame could pick up some groceries for dinner that night. As per Hina's request, they were going to have oden, a good choice for the cold winter, and Kenji had to admire Tsubame's strength. How could she get up to make them all breakfast and keep going all day, working for hours on end as Akabeko hostess after going through the emotional wringer of a next-day memorial service, and then come home to cook dinner?

Kenji would never underestimate the power of woman. He might never understand them, but he would never make the mistake of underestimating them.

"I'm glad we heard from Kenshin," Yahiko said to no one in particular. "It's nice to hear they had a good time."

He was carrying a sack of potatoes over his shoulder and the bag of dinner groceries ingredients from one hand. Yahiko always carried the groceries for Tsubame, even the light things. Not even Kenshin did that for Kaoru; he'd carry the heavy and bulky items for Kaoru but let her handle the rest. Odd that Kenji had just now noticed that.

"Me, too." Tsubame looked very content, not even tired, but Kenji was sure she had to have been at least twice as tired as he was. She walked easily at Yahiko's side—side-by-side, not one behind the other, either, like Kenshin and Kaoru did. Kenji wondered why he was now noticing these little differences between the two couples. "I hope they have a nice visit with Megumi-san in Aizu, too."

Kenji and his siblings knew Megumi-obasan from the handful of times they'd gone to visit her. Because of her busy work as a doctor, she'd only come to Tokyo to visit them twice, most recently at New Year's when Kenji was twelve. That was the last time they'd seen her. Kenji had been half-thinking they'd go visit Aizu this year, but his parents had, at the last minute, decided they'd go to Kyoto right after New Year's to visit the Aoiya and Hiko-ojiichan. He was a little miffed that they'd go without him, but at the same time he was a little worried. Dad wasn't usually compulsive, and Kenji couldn't quite remember if the decision to go to Kyoto had been made the same day the letter had come…

"It's even nicer to know Mom and Dad will be home in a couple more days. Not," Nobu hastened to clarify, "that I don't like it with you two, Yahiko-nii, Tsubame-nee. We're just looking forward to seeing Mommy and Daddy, aren't we, Hina?" He suddenly scooped the little girl up beneath the arms and swung her in a circle.

Hina took Nobu's hand when he set her down again. "We are! I miss Mommy and Daddy!" she agreed readily, then made everyone laugh with her next comment. "I don't miss Mommy's cooking, though."

"That's true." Kenji spoke up to join in the friendly, happy banter. "We've gotten spoiled these past couple weeks. We're going to have to ease back into Mom's cooking."

Face bland, Yahiko offered, "If you'd like, I can burn tonight's dinner."

The kids wailed in laughing protest, and Yahiko chuckled as they turned onto the last street that would take them home.

Kenji and Nobu sped up as they approached home, eager for the comfort that only the dojo could provide, each holding one of Hina's hands and swinging her between them in huge bounds as she squealed in delight as she all but flew, effortlessly, down the path. Yahiko and Tsubame trailed behind, their footsteps a little more heavy, a little more tired, as they grinned at the boundless energy of the younger generation.

Kenji was distracted, laughing as Hina let out a cry like a soaring eagle, but the sense of urgent danger shot through his mind, one sobering shock of hyperawareness of his surroundings, even as Yahiko's warning shout rang out.

"Get down!"

Nobu acted fast; he grabbed Hina against his chest as Kenji automatically released her hand, diving for what protection the archway to the front gate provided. Kenji came down on top of them, instinctively shielding their bodies with his, slapping the dusty ground with the flats of his palms to break their fall. He felt as much as heard the hiss, like a swarm of furious wasps, as a barrage of arrows clattered onto the path where they'd stood only moments before.

Kenji leapt to his feet, whirling, keeping Nobu and Hina behind him. He had some sort of half-formed notion to help Yahiko fight off whatever mysterious assailants there were, but already he could hear the sound of retreating footsteps.

Yahiko stood in the middle of the path, the groceries scattered around his feet, dust in a cloud attesting to the fact that he must have tackled Tsubame the same way Nobu had Hina, protecting her from the arrows that lay around them. Even as Kenji watched, Yahiko flung a potato—the only available missile—from the sack lying torn open on the path. The potato hit the bushes still rattling from the assailants' swift retreat; in his right hand, Yahiko held the sakabatou, cold steel glinting in the winter's light; he'd grabbed for Tsubame's hand after throwing the potato with his left, keeping her tucked securely against his back. She'd lost both geta in that brief flurry of chaos, and Kenji could see one of them, bottom up, in the middle of the path. She kept close to Yahiko, treading carefully not to trip him, as he weaved towards the trees, using his body—the only available protection in the middle of the road—to keep Tsubame as safe as he could manage.

There was a weird, growling noise issue forth from deep in Yahiko's throat, cold and feral. Watching, it sent a shudder through Kenji, and he realized he'd never seen Yahiko like this before—ruthless, relentless, _dangerous_. He'd sparred him countless times, but sparring and fighting, Kenji realized dimly, were two completely different things. And, frightened, afraid to even admit he was frightened, he crouched back down to fold a trembling Hina and Nobu into his arms.

"_Damn_." The curse was a snarl, low and vicious, and it barely preceded the rasp of the sakabatou sliding home into its sheath. It was like Kenji could _feel_ his insides shaking as Yahiko slowly turned from his inspection of the now-empty bushes. He didn't like the sensation; he was terrified, for the first time in his life truly afraid for his life, and for the lives of his brother and sister, who he couldn't even protect, and it made him feel like crying—which, in turn, made him feel stupid and angry and defensive.

But he shoved it all aside to rise wearily to his feet, to look at Yahiko, cradling Tsubame gently to his side as he walked up to them. "You guys hurt?" Kenji shook his head, and Yahiko exhaled sharply, in relief, as his eyes swept quickly over them to check for injuries or blood. He pulled the house key out from his sleeve and unlocked it. He passed Tsubame to Kenji with a murmured reassurance to her, told Kenji to lock the door afterwards, and turned away.

Tsubame sniffled a little, but she let Yahiko walk away; she shifted out of Kenji's hold to kneel and sweep Hina into her arms while Nobu tried to look brave despite the tears that dampened his cheeks, despite his clinging to her arm. Kenji glanced at Yahiko as the older man turned back to the road. "Niichan? Where are you going?"

"To look for them."

His voice was cold and hard, and this time, Kenji didn't ask to go along.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"You attacked Myoujin Yahiko?"

The voice from behind the screen was a murmur, sort of scratchy and low, but not extraordinarily so. The spies kneeling in front recognized the voice and responded with both respect and fear, but they knew, if they ran into the man they knew only as 'the boss' on the streets, matched with a face they'd never seen, they wouldn't know it was him. It wasn't one of those deep, rich voices, but rather almost nasally, a sort of quality not uncommon for the average man. And right now, the way he spoke, so soft, he could be amused or furious or bored—they couldn't tell.

The two spies exchanged one frightened glance, and the female swallowed nervously before speaking. "Y-Yes, sir. Masakichi's orders. He had us follow the target to the police station this morning, and I reported to his brother, Takashi. Taro and Jiro watched the target during the afternoon, at the police station and at the restaurant known as the Akabeko. Then Masakichi called Aki and me in and told us to give the target a little surprise when he came home. The orders were not to kill anyone, but just to scare them."

"Interesting." There was a pause, and the speaker could have wanted to tear Myoujin Yahiko to shreds, or he could have wanted to peel the skin and flesh off of Inoue Masakichi's bones in layers. The voice was that indefinable. "Good work. Do not inform either Masakichi or that sneaky brother of his of our talk, or of my presence here in Tokyo. Tomorrow I shall return to my home after the attack. Your temporary service to Masakichi ends once the attack is complete—success or failure. Return and report to me within seven days' time. Dismissed."

The spies bowed low before leaving silently. The man known as the boss tapped one short, thick finger against his jaw as he thought. That idiot Masakichi had visited the Akabeko earlier and had let the Himura brat see his face. He couldn't be trusted to keep to the plan—as his rash decision to act tonight had proved—and was thus all the more dangerous. Of course, he had expected such desertion, such lack of restraint, from someone like Inoue Masakichi. One did not trust such low-level thugs; they were to be used, and discarded.

Yes, discarded. A humorless smile touched the boss' lips. When this was over, then, he would rid himself forever of that pestilence that was Inoue Masakichi. His stupidity could have nearly cost them the plan; if Yahiko were not as driven as he was to always serve the people he thought it was his duty to protect, Masakichi's little distraction tonight could potentially have scared Yahiko into holing up the next day.

It was always nice to be able to count on the good guys to stick to their honor, and do what was 'right'. The boss laughed, delighted with his own cleverness, and took a deep drink of the dark wine in the glass by his elbow.

Dealing with incompetence was quite nearly as dealing with the last obstacle between him and the dream that, after almost thirty years of elusion, was finally at his fingertips.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hina was asleep in Tsubame's futon, exhausted from the long day at the Akabeko and the later afternoon's surprise attack. She had cried herself to sleep in Tsubame's lap and had only relinquished her grip on Tsubame because the blankets smelled reassuringly like her. Nobu was old enough to want to try to deal on his own, but young enough to still need someone to hold him, and after a hard, losing battle against his emotions and his pride, had let Tsubame tuck him into bed with Hina. She stayed by their side in the lengthening evening shadows until Nobu, too, fell asleep.

Kenji had tried to work off his shakiness by practicing, but after dropping his shinai for the fourth time because his hands were shaking too hard to grip it steady enough, he'd given up and paced around the outer hallway in a large loop around the house. His sore shoulders hadn't helped any, and his mind hadn't been focused, anyway.

He was working on his sixteenth or seventeenth lap when the shoji slid open and Tsubame stepped out of her room.

"Neechan." Kenji hurried over to catch a glimpse of his younger siblings, curled up and clinging to each other in sleep. The tension inside him eased a little to see them safe. "Are they okay?"

Tsubame nodded, closing the door and starting for the kitchen. "They're just shaken. I am, too. I could use a hot cup of ocha, how about you? Though maybe a liter or two of sake would go down easier."

Kenji laughed a little as he fell into step beside her. "I don't think I've ever seen you drink, Neechan."

"I don't." She stepped down into the kitchen and the pair of sandals there, moving to add more wood to the stove and putting a kettle of water on to boil. "When I was young, before I'd ever met Yahiko-kun, I was in the servitude of some men who…well, they were pretty much crooks. They used to drink all the time, and I saw how mean they got when they were drunk, so I vowed that I would never drink alcohol."

"Never?" Kenji was surprised, and he sat down, crossing his legs, and felt some of the lingering shakiness fade as Tsubame drew him into the conversation. He had the feeling Tsubame was talking more than usual to soothe her own nerves as much as his, to take both their minds off of what had just happened—and away from the fact that Yahiko had yet to return. "Never ever?"

She smiled as she pulled out the ocha pot and competently measured dried leaves into the strainer before getting out two cups. "Never ever. For our wedding, Yahiko-kun and I had juice instead of alcohol. Yahiko-kun doesn't hold his sake well."

"He's like my mom." Kenji grinned. Even just a couple drinks made them both red-faced and dizzy, and they started talking about things that probably shouldn't be talked about in public. Or at all, even. His dad, though, his dad could really put it away with no discernible effect on speech or thought or movement. Kenshin didn't find much occasion to drink copious amounts of sake, but Kenji had had the pleasure of watching his father engage in, and win, a rare number of drinking contests at various parties they'd hosted.

Kenji frowned thoughtfully. "Yahiko-nii's not a mean drunk, though, even though he's a sloppy drunk." He meant that in the literal sense.

"No." Tsubame's voice was soft. "Yahiko-kun is never mean." She glanced at Kenji knowingly. "Never intentionally mean, that is."

Kenji's sighed "yeah" was nearly inaudible, and he tried for humor to lighten the mood. "He can be really scary, though, sometimes." It was the wrong thing to say, and Kenji immediately wished he could take his words back. The look on Tsubame's face was all it took for him to realize her mind had wandered back to the very thing they'd both been trying so hard not to think about.

And he wished he could keep his mouth shut, but he couldn't hold back the question, couldn't help but take advantage of the situation—since it was there. "Neechan? Why did they try to hurt us today? Do you know who they were? What did they want with us?"

"I have no idea who they were." Tsubame spoke slowly, and at great length, so that her words almost startled Kenji after the extended pause. He had the impression she'd been trying to compose herself, because when she turned to face him, her face was calm but there were tears and fear shimmering in her steady brown gaze.

"I think they were trying to hurt Yahiko-kun, and we were just being used as a convenient way to hurt him. I think what they're really after…who they really want…is Yahiko-kun."

In the following silence, the sound of the front door opening was almost deafening. Tsubame's gasped "Yahiko-kun!" was a breathless whisper that somehow conveyed fear, hope, worry, relief, all in one sound. She moved faster than Kenji had ever seen her move before, including the day before when she'd run after Yahiko when he'd returned injured from his police job. The sandals clattered, abandoned, to the floor as she all but vaulted over Kenji to race down the hallway to meet Yahiko.

Yahiko had the bag of groceries in one hand, the sack of potatoes in the other. He hadn't stopped to greet Tsubame and was striding towards the kitchen, headed towards where Kenji stood in the hallway, with an angry sort of air hanging in his wake. He wasn't really ignoring Tsubame, but it didn't seem as if he'd stopped to talk to her, either. It was the closest Kenji had ever seen him to ignoring her, too, and she had to almost half-run to keep up with his long stride.

It was a striking contrast to the usual consideration Yahiko showed her, the way he'd been carrying her groceries only half an hour before, and it made Kenji mad to see the way he was treating her now.

Then Kenji looked at Yahiko's face, and anger melted right away, replaced by worry. "Niichan?" It shook Kenji to hear the uncertainty in his voice, shook him all the more to know Yahiko was there to tell him things would be all right.

Sometimes he thought Yahiko treated him like hew as four instead of fourteen. And sometimes he felt like he were four, not fourteen.

"I didn't find any trace of them." Yahiko's voice was heavy, tired, and held the bag of groceries out to Kenji to take. When he did, he realized Yahiko had collected all the arrows and was holding them in the same hand. "Tomorrow morning I'll take these to the station and see what they can do." He passed his hand over his face, careful not to scratch himself on the arrowheads. "Where are Hina and Nobu?"

"Sleeping." Tsubame's answer was soft, and her voice quavered. Kenji looked at her questioningly, but Yahiko didn't so much as lift his gaze. Tsubame swallowed hard and said with quiet determination, "They were trying to hurt you, Yahiko-kun, and they didn't care who else they hurt in the process. They wanted to hurt us, to hurt you. I think they're the same group who killed Shinichi-san yesterday.

"Shinichi?" It slipped out, unbidden, a shocked little cough of sound, before Kenji could think to stop it. His gaze moved from Yahiko to Tsubame, horrified and blinded by tears. "Shinichi Kosaburou? They killed Shinichi?" He knew the lieutenant; Shinichi had been a student of the dojo, back when Kenji was younger and before Yahiko had taken over the day-to-day running of classes. He'd come over for dinner with his wife and kids once in a while, at Kenshin's invitation, and Kenji knew Shinichi and his dad had worked together on police jobs—just as Shinichi and Yahiko now did.

Had.

Then his eyes turned to Yahiko, and he saw clearly through the tears. "You can't go tomorrow, Niichan. It's too dangerous."

"It's always dangerous." Yahiko kicked off his sandals at the step, then simply moved around Kenji when he didn't get out of his way. He walked down the short hallway to the kitchen, dropping the potatoes just inside the doorway to the kitchen. A couple of the vegetables rolled out of the ripped top across the dirt floor. He stayed there, unmoving, and didn't turn around. "You have no proof they're after me in particular."

His voice was quiet, deliberately quiet as Tsubame's, and Kenji realized Yahiko and Tsubame were having a fight, right there in front of him. It crossed Kenji's mind that he'd never seen adults fighting, not even his own parents; he'd never even imagined that Yahiko, who doted on Tsubame like she were a princess, and Tsubame, so sweet and…and…demure, would ever fight over anything.

It also occurred to him that the only polite thing to do was try to slide away without attracting their attention, but his legs wouldn't respond to the increasingly frantic commands his brain was sending in their direction. He was frozen, trying to shrink into the shadows, still clutching the handle of the grocery bag.

Tsubame's chin lifted with a stubbornness she so rarely showed, and Kenji was under the impression neither she nor Yahiko were even aware he was still there. "You said the prisoner you took told you they were taking out that official tomorrow—Tani, or whatever his name is, I saw it on an announcement when we made the lunch delivery today. Why would the prisoner—by your own account, a highly-trained member of a well-organized anti-government crime ring—tell you their next target? Not so you could have a better chance of stopping them, not to brag about their big plans, surely. Not unless the real target is _you_ and they want to make sure you're there tomorrow."

"You have no proof. You don't _know_." Yahiko's hand tightened on the fistful of arrows until Kenji was afraid they were going to snap in half, but his voice was somehow…uncertain. Like he wasn't quite sure why he was fighting Tsubame on something it sounded like he thought was the truth.

"No. I have no proof," Tsubame conceded in that quiet, quiet way of hers that made Kenji's throat snap shut. If that's how he, a bystander, felt, how must Yahiko be feeling?

"But I have my heart." _And it's telling me I might lose you, Yahiko-kun._

Yahiko finally met Tsubame's gaze across the distance that separated them. "I'm going tomorrow." His voice was heavy with…regret? And his eyes were tired, so very tired and sad. And resigned. "You can't ask me not to go."

Tsubame's response sliced his heart in two. "I never have."

And she turned and walked away.

There was a long, long silence during which Kenji was afraid to look at Yahiko, to even breathe. Finally Yahiko spoke, as if rising from a dream—or a nightmare. He glanced at Kenji with a dazed, empty look in his eyes and held out a hand to take the groceries. "I guess I'd better start dinner," he said faintly, but Kenji knew nobody would feel much like eating that night.

He walked to his room, because being alone was better than being with Yahiko right now. He'd never felt more alone, or more like he needed his older brother.

As he huddled under the blankets with his misery, Kenji remembered one thing and realized another.

He'd forgotten to tell Yahiko about the weird guy at the Akabeko that morning.

And tomorrow, he couldn't let Yahiko go out to face his destiny alone.

* * *

Written: 7.30.06

Author's Notes: Thank you to **Hitokiri Jinchuu** for the quote about Yahiko treating Kenji like he was "four instead of fourteen". I totally ripped it off, pretty much word for word. If you'd like me to change it, I'd be more than willing to do so, if it bothers you. Thank you!

Looking at Yahiko and Tsubame's relationship, especially in the Jinchuu Arc of the manga books, I've realized that Tsubame-chan is stronger than we credit her. Even in book 25, when she mentions to Yahiko that there's no one to protect him when he runs off to fight Kujiranami, she doesn't tell him "don't go". Not once does she ever say "don't go". Poor Tsubame-chan.

_Glossary:  
Obasan: "aunt"  
Ojiichan: "grandpa"_


	11. The Teachings of Two Ryu

**Genpuku**

Ryu refers to a school of sword-fighting (of the title). I don't mean to indicate any sort of…relationship…between Kenji and Tsubame. Kenji is a fourteen-year-old boy, though, old enough to think it'd be weird.

**Chapter Eleven:  
The Teachings of Two Ryu**

* * *

Kenji was never an early morning person, but he was up and dressed by the time the sun was rising, sending pale probes of pearly light, peach and rose, to dance across the theater of clouds overhead. The skies were stormy, clouds of gray and silver thick overhead, and the air held the cold, heavy feel of incoming snow. It looked like it would hold off until that afternoon or, if they were lucky, early evening.

He hurried through the faint overcast light filtering through gaps in the clouds to the kitchen, where the warm glow indicated the oven fire had been poked up from dormant ashes from the night before. There were none of the usual smells or sounds of breakfast, and Kenji figured he'd gotten up early enough to help with the morning meal, for once. It certainly _felt_ early enough, and despite the fact that he'd fallen asleep before nine the night before, his eyes were gritty and his body moved sluggishly, as if it weighed twice as much as it should have.

He'd slept poorly, and could only imagine how the night had been for Tsubame and Yahiko.

He'd gotten up early so he could have a chance to speak to Yahiko before the others woke and his lost the opportunity to talk with him in private about the man at the Akabeko from the day before. Maybe it was selfish of him, or maybe it was just innate protectiveness, from too much time spent around Yahiko and Kenshin, but Kenji didn't want Tsubame or his siblings to know about the extra worries. A creepy man on his own was worrisome enough; a creepy man showing up at a time like this was just too much.

But when he got to the kitchen, it wasn't Yahiko Kenji found, but Tsubame.

She was crying.

"Ughurk." It was something of a gulp and a cough all in one, surprised and embarrassed and wholly apologetic for having walked in on her, and Kenji tried frantically to backpedal to give her privacy.

"Oh, Kenji-kun." Tsubame looked up, sniffling hard, and wiped at her swollen, red eyes with her sleeves. Kenji had never seen Tsubame cry. He'd never seen or even imagined her acting with any less than perfect composure. Married to Yahiko, that wasn't surprising; growing up around Kaoru, it made perfect sense. Knowing Tsubame was as susceptible as the rest of them to the volatile range of human emotion was decidedly unsettling, and not at all reassuring under the circumstances.

_Baka!_ Kenji's silent admonition was fierce as Tsubame's struggle for control failed and her face crumpled in defeat as tears swept through her slender frame with renewed vengeance. _Idiot._ What Tsubame needed now was someone to comfort her, not an audience.

Kenji stuffed his feet into a pair of sandals as he stepped down into the kitchen and crossed the dirt floor to where Tsubame stood by the sink, arms wrapped around herself as she shook with sobs. Awkwardly, he reached out, put his arms around her shoulders to hug her, startled by the readiness with which she accepted his embrace. She was taller than he was, by maybe half a head, but that didn't seem to bother her as her arms tightened in silent gratitude around his waist, her head nestled against the curve of his shoulder.

Kenji had never been this close to a girl before. Well, he'd been _near_ girls before, like last summer at the Obon festival where spirits from the next world were allowed to visit earth; the local temple grounds had been packed, and Kenji had come into pretty close contact with girls there. Guys, too. But that had been different. _This_ was different. That was unintentional, and unavoidable, casual. This was deliberate and, well, intimate.

It was really awkward, and edging just a bit too far over into 'weird'. Tsubame was like his _sister_; she was Yahiko's wife, his childhood sweetheart, and Yahiko was Kenji's best friend.

You don't hug your best friend's wife while she weeps her heart out the way he was hugging Tsubame. It didn't matter that his intentions were pure, it just wasn't something that you did. It didn't even matter that Tsubame thought of him sort of as an adopted son, family, that Kenji looked at Tsubame as half sister and half aunt. It was just…weird. And somehow wrong, even as he knew the comfort he gave her was what she needed.

And it was startling to realize that Tsubame was still young, despite her usually unshakable mature demeanor. She was always so strong and so dependable, so steady and competent, it absolutely boggled the mind to think she would only be turning twenty-nine that coming March.

Kenji was just trying to figure out a way to extract himself from the increasingly uncomfortable situation when Tsubame let out a particularly long sigh, patted him on the back of his shoulder, and stepped back. Her eyes were drenched, her lashes wet, and she sighed again, less shakily this time.

"I'm sorry, Kenji-kun." She didn't look away in embarrassment or try to smile for him, and because of that, Kenji knew she was being completely honest with him. "I haven't cried over Yahiko-kun leaving to fight since the first time, when I was eleven, and I've never cried over anything onto anyone other than Yahiko-kun. Thank you."

"You're welcome." _I think._ "So, uh…did Yahiko-nii leave already?"

Tsubame nodded and dabbed at her tears with the sleeve of her kimono. "He said he wanted to make the report about the attack last night and get it out of the way before he focused on today."

There was something terribly said about Tsubame, and Kenji wondered if it was because she wasn't a warrior herself. His mom was never so worried when his dad left; she'd tell him "Be careful and be home in time for dinner!" same as if he were going out to run errands. Maybe it was because his mom was strong in her faith like that.

Maybe it was because Kaoru never doubted that Kenshin would succeed when he went off on a police job, but Tsubame did worry that Yahiko might fail.

For lack of anything better to say, Kenji said, "Yahiko-nii will be fine, Neechan. I'm sure he'll be extra careful today, and he'll come back just fine."

Her smile, like her eyes, was troubled. "I hope so, Kenji-kun." She whispered in return as she turned to start breakfast. If only she could. He'd do his job, if it would cost him his life. She'd seen that in his eyes last night, when he'd looked at her with that expression that had just killed her.

He'd accepted the fact that he put others' lives before hers, and that Tsubame already knew.

She hadn't known he felt guilty for doing so.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Breakfast was strained, with both Kenji and Tsubame struggling to keep up a pretense of normalcy and ease for Hina's benefit. For Nobu's, too, but they were smart enough to know he understood that something was wrong—not just wrong, even, but _bad_ wrong. Despite the unusual lateness, appetites were poor all around, and conversation was sparse, each lost in their own thoughts. They were all still rattled by the attack last night, and Tsubame was still visibly upset by her fight with Yahiko. Kenji thought she wouldn't have forced herself to eat if she weren't trying to encourage Hina to do the same. As it was, the little girl took only a few bites of rice and drank half her bowl of soup, then sat and pushed her pickled vegetables around listlessly on her plate.

Nobu and Kenji stoically choked down their food, though neither asked for seconds, seeming to be of the mindset that they needed their strength for whatever was to come that day. It was apparent they weren't going to eat more, but nobody moved for a while. There was no hurry to go anywhere—classes that day were cancelled, Tsubame wasn't working at the Akabeko, and they weren't exactly eager to go out, anyway. When he'd left, Yahiko hadn't exactly told Tsubame they were not to leave the dojo, but she didn't feel much like risking anyone's life by going in to town for no reason.

But other than clean up the dishes and maybe do some laundry, there wasn't much else to do around the house on their own.

It was Nobu who spoke, breaking the somber stillness. "We can clean the house today, you think, Neechan? That way when Mom and Dad come home, everything will be all nice for them."

Tsubame shook off her stupor and smiled gratefully at him. "Good idea, Nobu-kun. I'm sure Kenshin-san and Kaoru-san would appreciate that. Kenji-kun? Hina-chan?" She got an assenting nod from Kenji, but Hina didn't respond. Before Tsubame could prompt her again, Nobu spoke again.

He leaned over to wrinkle his nose at her comically. "Come on, chibi," he teased, using Yahiko's nickname for her to try to tease out a smile. "It'll be like playing princess and dragon. Let's see. You're the princess—of course—and we're your entourage, the people who follow you everywhere. Kenji-nii's your bodyguard, and Tsubame-nee's your hairstylist and wardrobe maiden, she helps you pick out your pretty dress for the day. I'll be your stableboy, the one who makes sure your pony is always clean and fed, okay? We'll pretend the mean dragon kidnapped us and brought us to his home and told us we have to clean his house before he gets back at dinnertime, or he'll eat us all whole!"

Hina had perked up at the mention of her favorite game, but there was still reservation in her gaze, so Kenji picked up the conversation. "Hey, that's no fair! I'd rather be the dragon! Grrr!" He bared his teeth and bent his fingers into claws and pretended to breathe fire at Hina. "Mmmm, pretty little princesses! I just love to gobble them right up!"

Laughing suspicion crossed Hina's face, and Nobu knew they'd hooked her when she accused, "Niichan, you just want to be the dragon so you don't have to do any cleaning!"

They all laughed at that, and the tension that had been hanging over them the entire meal eased. Tsubame lifted her eyebrows at Hina and added her part to the game. "Well, as royal wardrobe maiden—" she wasn't quite sure how Nobu had come up with that "—I think we should get you properly outfitted for a day of forced hard labor. Come, Princess. We shall leave the menfolk to the drudgery of kitchen work and retire to our chamber until such time as appropriate garb can be procured."

Hina giggled and let Nobu and Kenji take her dishes. "Tsubame-nee speaks fancy."

"But of course, Your Majesty." Tsubame stood and helped Hina to her feet. She glanced over her shoulder at the boys and whispered, "We'll be right back; I'm going to have her change. We don't want her nice kimono to get dirty."

Nobu followed Kenji to the kitchen and helped him put the uneaten portions of food away in containers kept along the cool dirt floor for the next meal. "So Yahiko-nii and Tsubame-nee had a fight." His voice was sad on the observation.

"Yeah." Kenji tied back his sleeves to start the dishes with the water Tsubame had hauled in from the well before they'd eaten. He cast his brother a knowing look. "You heard?"

Nobu nodded and fixed his sleeves in similar fashion. "I woke up, but Hina slept through it all, thankfully." He paused, then lowered his voice. "It's not really any of my business, but…Tsubame-nee spoke too quietly for me to hear. What did she say?"

Kenji dunked dishes into the tub of rinse water, gritting his teeth against the icy cold. Like Nobu, he kept his voice low for confidentiality. "Neechan thinks the bad guys who attacked two days ago are setting Yahiko-nii up today and that they're really after him, not the government official he's supposed to be protecting today. He said there was no proof of that and he was going to go today despite her warning." This part was a bit puzzling, and Kenji said, more slowly, "Yahiko-nii said, 'You can't tell me not to go'. And Neechan said, 'I never have.' And then she left."

There was a pause, and then Kenji shrugged, scrubbing at the plates and bowls in the sink and handing them to Nobu to dry. Nobu stacked the dry dishes on the counter, to be put away when they were all done. Finally he blew out a breath. "Well, that's something between them, I guess, but I feel sorry for Neechan. She's not like Mom; she doesn't do kenjutsu at all, so she's on the outside of what Yahiko-nii does, so she'll never really understand that part of him—not the way Mom understands Dad, you know?" He stacked more dishes. "I feel bad for Yahiko-nii, too."

"Huh?" Under the current circumstances, with the memory of Tsubame crying helplessly onto his shoulder fresh in his mind, Kenji couldn't quite think of why he should sympathize with Yahiko. Worry about him, maybe, yeah, but feel sorry for him? Not likely. "Why?"

"Well, because he has to know he's hurting Neechan every time he goes, but he goes anyway. He can't help the fact he's like Dad and always has to go off to help other people in need. And it must hurt him to know he's hurting the one person he loves more than anyone else." Nobu competently swiped the dishtowel over the plate to wipe it dry. "That's just what I think, at least."

"Wow." Kenji had to blink. "Wow, that's pretty heavy stuff. I hadn't thought of that." It made sense, though. He'd been about to ask the question that sprang automatically to his tongue—if he's hurting and he knows he's hurting her, why doesn't he stop?—but bit it back before it could jump out. He knew the answer already. Kaoru had taught him from long before he'd ever laid hands on a shinai—Kamiya Kasshin Ryu's guiding principle is to help protect people, not kill them. It went hand-in-hand with Kenshin's philosophy, that he couldn't abide knowing people around him were suffering or in pain. Yahiko wielded a sword that stood for justice, and he wouldn't stand by and let those weaker than he be abused or taken advantage of.

That's why Yahiko not only didn't stop, but why he _couldn't_. He was a follower of two complementary schools of thought.

"Ken-nii." Kenji looked at Nobu in surprise. Nobu rarely called him 'Ken-nii' anymore, hadn't since he was about Hina's age. But Nobu's eyes were serious, and very mature, despite the use of his childhood nickname. "What are we going to do?"

He knew Nobu meant what they were going to do about the threat they both knew was very real that Yahiko seemed to be completely disregarding. The fact that the attackers could be targeting Yahiko, and not the governmental official, was possible. And it was tempting, so tempting, to throw down the last of the dishes, grab his bokken off the wall of the dojo, and run into town to fight alongside Yahiko, with or without his consent. To launch himself headfirst into the fray, and consequences be damned.

He quelled the urge—barely—and shook his head in pained denial. "Nothing."

" 'Nothing'!" Nobu's exclamation was, justifiably, outraged. "Niichan!"

Kenji shook his head again, sharply. "Yahiko-nii told me no. He wouldn't want either of us to go out there and die."

"But it's okay that he might," Nobu muttered, so rebelliously Kenji had to choke off a laugh. How ironic was it, that he'd be taking Yahiko's side on the matter. At least now he could understand a little better Yahiko's sentiments.

He realized Nobu was eyeing him suspiciously, and he blinked innocently as Nobu asked, "Niichan…you really aren't going to fight with Yahiko-nii?" He knew better than to voice aloud what he was thinking—that it was unusual, nearly outright against character, for Kenji to give up on anything so easily on something that meant as much as this did.

Kenji was glad Nobu had worded it the way he had. They'd never been especially close, but he'd still have felt a bit guilty lying outright to his brother. "I'm really not going to fight with Yahiko-nii."

Nobu's eyes sharpened, and Kenji could have throttled himself for his carelessness. His brother was a Himura, and Kenji had just given himself away by not being more aware of the slight emphasis on his words—he wasn't going to go fight _with_ Yahiko, that was the truth.

He was still going to go fight.

But Nobu didn't call him on it, and for one split second Kenji wondered if what he sometimes heard whispered behind his back about his brother's slowness was true, but then Nobu slung the damp towel over his shoulder to pick up the stack of plates and put them away. "The parade is supposed to start at ten-thirty. You'd better get out of here before ten if you want to be sure you're there and well-hidden before Yahiko-nii gets out." He didn't turn around, didn't want to meet Kenji's eyes; he didn't want to have to lie to Tsubame when he told her he didn't know what Kenji was planning.

They finished washing the dishes in the silence of collaborators or partners in crime.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

At nine-fifty-three, Takashi made the report to his brother in person. Masakichi was indulging in one of his favorite pastimes, sitting behind his expensive mahogany desk in the luxuriously upholstered leather chair—both stolen, of course—with a short glass of imported brandy in one hand. His stocking-clad feet were crossed at the ankles, propped up on the gleaming surface of the desk, and he was daydreaming about the day when he exacted his full revenge on Yahiko, and the expression on Yahiko's face when he realized who Masakichi was, and what he was going to do to make him pay.

"Masakichi." It was a testament to the significance of the news tha the used his brother's full name. His voice all but shook with ill-concealed eagerness. "Masakichi, there's been an unexpected and most fortuitous incident outside the police station. Aki and Maya brought him in right away. It seems," he said with a fearsome grin as he crossed the office, leaned down to whisper the news directly into his brother's ear, "as if, by the end of the week, we'll have both Yahiko and the legendary Himura Kenshin in our hands."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_Kenji-kun._ It had taken Tsubame only three minutes to search the dojo grounds and assure herself that Kenji was truly gone. It took another precious seventeen to get herself and Nobu disguised thoroughly enough to pass her own inspection. She felt paranoid—and a bit silly—but decided she'd rather be silly and paranoid than dead. People looking for a woman and two children wouldn't keep their eye out for two boys and a child.

"Neechan. Are you sure about this?" Nobu watched Tsubame with worry in his eyes as she fixed the last pins in the overlong sleeves of the old blue gi Hina wore—part robe, part dress—and looked up at him. Nobu was dressed in gi and hakama with a long Western-style overcoat on top; he wasn't sure where Tsubame had found the coat, but if he'd never seen it before, it was a good enough disguise. He'd mussed up his hair so it stuck up in points in a messy fashion he never wore his own hair. Hina had already been dressed up for her part as house-cleaning princess in their game when Tsubame found out Kenji was missing, but her outfit would work out well enough as a disguise. At passing glance, Nobu knew the oversized garment masked whether she was a boy or girl.

But it was Tsubame who would really ensure no one would recognize them. She wore one of Kenji's white practice gi under a thicker outer shirt of a faded green with a small tick-mark pattern Nobu had never seen before. He had never seen Tsubame wear a hakama, either, and—as she'd admitted when she'd asked him for help in tying the hakama properly—she'd never worn one before. It was one of Kenji's spares and fit her surprisingly well. She'd tied up her hair and hidden its telltale length by tying a wide, black band of cloth around her head, the dangling ends at the back of her head effectively hiding her hair, pulled back in a tail. With a bokken slung across her back the same way as Yahiko was wont and a stern scowl on her face, from far away she could pass as a boy.

A scrawny, not particularly tall twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy, but a boy nonetheless.

Tsubame hustled them out the back of the dojo with the precaution that they might be watched on their way to the station to try to catch Yahiko to tell him about Kenji's disappearance. Nobu started to say her name, then thought better of it and touched his fingers to her elbow to bring her attention to him.

"What is it—?" The end of her question cut off abruptly as she interrupted herself before she could say his name, realizing just in time that anyone close enough to spy on them might be close enough to eavesdrop as well.

Nobu managed a smile despite the tension inside him. "Uh, you might want to try to walk more like a man." If she continued to hurry along the way she was, their deception would be caught before they made it halfway to the station. No _man_ walked the way she was, in the distinctively female manner with her toes pointing inwards as if she were wearing a kimono.

"Oh." She blushed and laughed a little. "Um, right. Thank you."

And at ten-twenty-two, Nobu and Hina in Chief Uramura's care, Tsubame rushed to the back courtyard of the police station and found Yahiko with the other armed guards who he'd be fighting alongside that day, waiting in the outside yard.

He looked up as she approached, first in a complete lack of recognition, then in dawning horror even before she tripped into his steadying grasp and, clinging to his arms, her eyes fast on his, gasped out the news.

"Yahiko-kun…Kenji-kun's gone, and it's my fault."

* * *

Written: 8.1.06

Author's Notes: Cultural note…Obon festival is an annual summer festival with its roots in the Buddhist religion, usually held in August, in which the gates of hell open to allow the dead to visit earth—a sort of break from the horrors of hell. Again, not an essential tidbit of information.

I have no idea how people in the Meiji Era kept leftover food so it didn't spoil. If anyone knows, please tell me!

_Glossary:  
Bokken: all-wood sword  
Kenjutsu: sword fighting_


	12. Losing Fate

**Genpuku**

I hope Yahiko's kiss doesn't seem too out of character. Please forgive me (and him). I think the man should be allowed his weaknesses.

Sorry for the break! I'm back from vacation and will hopefully be up and writing again full-force as soon as I get over this lingering exhaustion…

**Chapter Twelve:  
Losing Fate**

* * *

Chief Uramura had been surprised to see Yahiko at the station earlier than agreed upon, but he hadn't mentioned it as he immediately set into motion a preliminary investigation into the attack the night before. Either out of respect or fear, Yahiko wasn't sure. What was certain was that the killing expression on his face hadn't lightened any from when he'd arrived to the appointed time when the guards were assembling in the yard. They were doing everything they usually did—checking equipment, testing blades, stretching muscles with the muted non-conversation that habitually accompanied the routine.

But something was off. _He_ was off.

Yahiko had never walked into a job with his focus so scattered, and he'd never before needed his focus as much as he did today.

And all he wanted to do was turn around, walk away, find Tsubame, and hold her, just hold her. He didn't want to do much talking, because he couldn't think of what he would say, or what she would say. For that same reason, when he'd left her that morning, he hadn't said much—he'd told her where he was going, told her to be careful, and to not put herself or the kids in any situation where they'd be out in the open. Then he'd left. No hug, no kiss, no goodbye, not even lingering eye contact.

He'd been intending to leave her without any of the usual little comforts that he normally took such precautions to extend, so she wouldn't worry, so she knew he'd be safe and that he'd be back that night. And as he'd stepped away across the front yard with the sakabatou at his side and the arrows in his hand, she'd called out, just loud enough for him to hear, "Be careful, and come back safely tonight, Yahiko-kun."

She brought tears to his eyes.

They hadn't slept together last night. In over seven years, this was the first time they hadn't slept together because they'd been mad at each other. They'd had fights before, but nothing of this magnitude, and they'd never let it go so that they didn't make up before they went to sleep. Always before, one or the other, most often both, would apologize and they'd resolve the issue and it would be over. Perhaps it was because, in their small apartment, they didn't have the luxury of sleeping in different rooms as was possible at the dojo.

He hadn't slept well, alone in Hina and Nobu's room, and he knew Tsubame well enough to know she probably hadn't fared much better, either, sleeping in their room with Hina and Nobu, where they had fallen asleep early. Tsubame had told him, once, shyly, that she slept better when he was with her.

The confession had come early one morning when she'd woken to find him watching her, cuddled together beneath the blankets, before they'd gotten married. She'd started spending the nights with him more and more regularly, and they'd slept together—literally. At the time, they hadn't wanted to chance her getting pregnant before they were married; it wouldn't be for another year before they learned that they couldn't have children together. Yahiko had known with certainty that a wedding was in their future. Tsubame, sweet, unpretentious, unassuming Tsubame, hadn't so readily taken it for granted. It wasn't that she doubted him, or them, it wasn't that she didn't want the same.

It just…It all came down to arrogance. He was, and she wasn't.

Yahiko wished he could beat his fists against his thick skull, for what little good it would do him, but knew he couldn't permit himself the show of weakness in front of the officers he was to lead. Instead he tightened the straps on his wrists guards and practiced drawing the sakabatou a couple times, first while he was stationary, then while in motion. It had taken him days to learn the basics of unsheathing his sword; it had been weeks before he'd been able to do so with speed and efficiency.

It had been the one thing Kenshin had agreed to teach him about Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. Yahiko couldn't do anything fancy—he couldn't even attack in that one motion—but at least he didn't fumble around trying to free his sword from its sheath.

There was movement, a small commotion by the side door to the station, and all eyes turned to investigate. Tension hummed it the air; what was going on? Nobody was to enter the yard except Tani, their guest for the day, and he would be accompanied by his own personal guards and carriage driver. The carriage itself had been inspected for malfunctioning parts and hidden bombs and waited in the middle of the yard, surrounded by the officers.

No, it wasn't Tani, and it wasn't a messenger bearing news of any sort. It was a lone figure—a very familiar figure—that was racing towards them. "Stand down." Yahiko issued the order sharply, stepping forward to intercept their unexpected visitor as the others slowly lowered their weapons. There was something decidedly odd about whoever it was; recognition hovered just beyond his reach. Gi and hakama were both familiar, but not together; there was something about the shape of the body beneath the garments that he remembered; something about the color of his—her—hair.

Recognition dawned on Yahiko as Tsubame came close enough for him to see her face clearly. She was dressed as a boy, but…_She ran like a girl._ Despite the manly garb, she still ran like a girl.

It nearly had him smiling when her gasped words reached his ears.

"Yahiko-kun…Kenji-kun's gone, and it's all my fault."

There was a long silence as Yahiko struggled to keep his balance, keep Tsubame from losing hers; as his mind scrambled to get over the crushing relief at seeing her, over his shock at her words. Something, something almost like hurt anger, crossed Tsubame's face. She'd all but fallen into his arms, but now she straightened, pulling away from him to look him in the face. And her voice wasn't accusing, but sad. "Yahiko-kun…Did you hear me? Do you even care?"

That shot him back to reality real quick. The world had narrowed down to nothing but her in his arms. He'd been wishing for her, and there she was.

"Of course…Of course I care!" They couldn't think about it now, didn't have the time. The world came back to him, and his mind began to function again. His eyes narrowed in concentration, and he allowed Tsubame the step back; it gave him space to think. "All right. You were at the dojo when he left?"

She nodded, marveling at the intense concentration in his gaze. "He and Nobu-kun were doing the dishes, then he told Nobu-kun to go change. I was with Hina-chan; we were getting ready to clean the house, and I didn't want her kimono to get dirty. When we got back to the kitchen, Kenji-kun was gone, and he'd taken his bokken from the dojo. Nobu-kun didn't see anything."

Uncaring of the eyes on them and the speculation from the other officers, Yahiko ran hands that weren't quite steady up and down Tsubame's arms, to comfort and to soothe as much as simply to touch. "Why do you say it's your fault, Tsubame? Kenji most probably is waiting somewhere to join us to fight like he wanted to, without my permission." It's what he would have done. Yahiko couldn't very well send Kenji home like a child if they were already locked in battle.

"Nobu-kun told me that Kenji-kun had said something that gave him the impression that Kenji-kun wasn't going to come fight _with_ you, but to fight _for_ you." Confusion flickered briefly over Yahiko's face, but understanding was dawning even as Tsubame elaborated, "He saw us fighting last night. I think it's my fault he thinks you need protecting."

"Oh, Tsubame, no." His hands slid up to her shoulders, held her until she looked at him. "It's not your fault he left. He's almost fifteen now, he's old enough to be responsible for his own actions." _Nobu knew._ Nobu knew what his older brother was going to do; Yahiko would bet on it, and he was an even worse gambler than Sano was. And they, the three of them, were men, Himura men in heart if not in name. If they understood one thing, it was protecting those they cared for.

Whether Kenji thought he was protecting Yahiko or protecting Tsubame by protecting Yahiko, only he knew.

Yahiko looked at Tsubame with serious eyes. "Did you tell Chief Uramura?"

She shook her head. "I came to find you first. Nobu-kun and Hina-chan are with him, though, so I'm sure Nobu-kun will have told him. Will the police look for him?"

Nodding grimly, Yahiko made up his mind fast and took her hand in his. "Chief Uramura will, in light of the report I just made this morning about the attack on us last night. I'd hate to think of what might happen to him if anyone who knows we're good friends finds him first." His fingers tightened on hers. "Come on." He didn't give her a chance to ask 'where?' before he was dragging her behind him around the corner of the station building.

"Yahiko-kun?" She was worried, frightened, but trusting. Her eyes locked on his with a terrifying conviction that he could answer all her questions. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't think, couldn't think, as he pushed her up against the wall, her body trapped against his. He could smell her, soap and vanilla and vaguely like clean laundry, could feel her pressed up against him, could feel her heart beating against his. "Nothing." It was a mutter, dark and distracted before his mouth came down hard on hers. "I missed you last night. I need you, Tsubame. Need you."

And the need for her cleaved him off at the knees. His right hand gripped the back of her head so he could tip her head back for his kiss. It roiled inside him, hot as anger, demanding as the need for revenge, but different…better. The kiss was brutal and desperate and devouring, his lips and tongue giving her no chance to protest—or reply in kind.

Tsubame trembled in his arms, trembled in response to the dark hunger that raged within him, and part of him registered the fact that he was frightening her—that right now, she was afraid of him. But she put her arms around him to pull him close, to hold him closer, and she lifted her face to his and let him kiss her with all the desperate need within.

"I love you." He mumbled it against her mouth and kissed her again, deep and long, but more gently now. He slowly eased back, keeping his arms around her for support, his soul crying for the loss of her body's warmth. "So much."

Her blood was hammering in her ears, and her breath was coming short, love and lust tangling messily inside with that spurt of fear—the danger, the illicitness of the act in public, the staggering need he felt for her—and she felt for him. Tsubame had to try twice before she managed to say in a voice barely above a whisper, "I love you, too." And she stepped forward to kiss him back, wrapping him in the innocent sweetness of her love.

"All right." Reluctantly, Yahiko stepped back a second time. His heart was galloping in his chest and he could barely form a coherent thought. "All right." He had to hold onto her, not quite willing to trust his legs to support him. How could he, when he couldn't even feel them? He had to swallow and force himself to focus. "You should stay at the station, keep the kids with you."

Tsubame leaned against the wall, closed her eyes briefly to regain her equilibrium. The flood of emotion that swept through her with Yahiko's kiss had left her shaky, stunned with the unguarded love he felt for her. She'd never questioned it, never doubted that he loved her; but, especially after last night, such an open admission of how vulnerable he was where she was concerned was staggering.

She opened her eyes, and found Yahiko watching her. "Are you going after Kenji-kun?" Even before he answered, she knew what he was going to say.

"…No." Yahiko's eyes didn't leave hers. "I'm going to do my job."

She nodded. She hadn't expected any less, after all. "All right." And her next words sent a lightning bolt of fear through Yahiko. "I'm going to go look for Kenji-kun." He started to contradict her, but she shook her head and pressed a hand over her heart. "I know, in here, he's in danger. I can't sit around where it's safe knowing he's out there with the bad guys. We all do what we have to do, Yahiko-kun," she cut off another attempted protest. "You fight to keep our city safe. I'll go look for Kenji-kun."

Yahiko's heart leapt into his throat—fear, ridiculous fear, for the foolhardy courage staring him in the face. He knew she was right, just as he'd known she'd been right the night before. "You be careful, Tsubame." And now, unlike before, he could admit it. He lifted a hand to brush over her cheek. "The bad guys could be looking for you, too—disguise or no disguise."

The smile she flashed him was bright and cocky; if Yahiko had spent more time admiring his grin in the mirror, he'd have recognized it as his own. "Don't worry, Yahiko-kun. I'm married to the number one swordsman in all of Japan. I'm sure I've picked up at least _some_ things watching you practice all these years. I am armed, after all." Then she giggled, a purely _Tsubame_ sound, and smiled as she turned and ran off, the bokken strapped across her back almost comically long on her petite frame. "I'll be back for dinner," she called, and she was off.

For the first time, Yahiko experienced what it was like, to be left standing helpless while the one he loved ran off to danger, with no thought to her own safety, and no guarantee she'd make it back alive.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Tsubame had no idea where a teenaged boy would go when he ran away from home to prove himself, and she hurried away from Yahiko, the fearless grin she'd shown him slowly fading into worry. Maybe it was paranoia, or maybe it was the female instinct; whatever it was, she just _knew_ something had happened to Kenji. But she had to check anyway, just to be sure he hadn't met up with any of his friends and was hanging out somewhere having a quick snack and conversation. Or they could be wrong in their assumptions; he could very well be hiding, waiting for Yahiko so he could fight alongside him, and if that was the way it was, Kenji would be in big trouble.

Better safe—and paranoid—than sorry, sorry for the rest of her life.

It would be best to start with the obvious places. She wound her way through the station to Chief Uramura's office to tell him where she was going and to ask him to watch Nobu and Hina for her, then left before any one of them could stop her.

It didn't help that she felt conspicuous and out of place wearing the gi and hakama. In the modern age, more and more people—especially people of her generation—wore Western-style clothes, but there were enough other hakama- and kimono-clad people on the streets that she didn't look too unusual. With the bokken strapped to her back, too, at first glance she would pass for any one of the many kenjutsu students who filled the streets of Tokyo.

Tsubame's first stop was the udon shop where she had taken the children to lunch only two days before—a short, small eternity ago. A quick scan of the tables confirmed that Kenji wasn't there, and Tsubame turned and left before she was spotted—or, more importantly, recognized.

It was the same with all the usual hotspots and popular meeting places; even though she'd begun her search prepared for the worst, it was still disheartening to realize her pessimism hadn't, in the end, been so unfounded.

She had just entered the bookstore owned by sweet old Kimura-san where Tsubame knew Kenji bought the popular monthly kenjutsu magazine when there came the sound of steady hoofbeats, the creak of carriage wheels, and the roar of battle.

There were screams and the sound of chaos that accompanied mass exodus from the open streets as pedestrians sought to force themselves into the limited areas of protection and shelter available. Stores flooded with people off the streets as they crammed through doorways and hid behind outside displays of goods, and there were grunts and small cries of pain as those unlucky enough to be caught underfoot were trampled, elbowed, or otherwise injured in the ensuing panic. Tsubame, caught in the swirling eddies of human movement, fought to keep her balance and move to where she could see what was happening.

She might not have been an experience warrior, but she knew what a fight sounded like.

And she'd recognize Yahiko's voice, soft as a morning whisper, or raised as it was now in a blood-curdling war cry, anywhere.

They'd chosen to strike in one of the busiest sections of town, knowing it would force Yahiko to fight on the defensive and take into account that any mistake on his part, no matter how slight, would result in possible injury to innocent people. As the people Yahiko felt so bound to protect streamed into the bookstore, Tsubame fought her way out. By the time she'd emerged on the street outside, she'd been stepped on, shoved, elbowed in the ribs, and nearly bowled straight off her feet by a burly _gaijin_ with eyes blue as the sky and wide as umeboshi. She was breathless already as she struggled to pull the bokken off her back, gripping the smooth handle with unsteady hands.

The attackers were dressed in all black, like ninjas—or assassins. They stood out like easy targets, and Tsubame's quick eyes tried to count how many there were, but they moved too fast for her to follow—too fast to be 'easy' targets, and for a moment fear and doubt caught Tsubame motionless. What was she doing? She wasn't a fighter. She had no idea what she was doing. The only time she'd ever held a weapon was when she was acting as a hitting dummy—emphasis on 'dummy'—for Yahiko or Kenji or, more often now, for Nobu, too.

The bokken was heavy and awkward in her hands, her palms damp, her heart thundering too fast as adrenaline spiked. The carriage had halted, horses fighting the driver's control, and the man inside—Tani—was cowering in the seat, his yells and curses and pleas adding to the general commotion outside. Tsubame saw one police officer bleeding from a deep arm wound, but—if she were keeping track—there were three black-clad men on the ground, screaming in pain and clutching at their legs.

Tsubame saw Yahiko attack, a blur of dark hair, gleaming metal, and a heart-stopping snarl that rent the crisp winter air, and understood why the men were down. The flat of the sakabatou blade smashed into one of the assailant's knees, shattering the kneecap and reducing him to a blubbering mess in the dirt. Without pause, Yahiko had recovered from the force of his attack, rolling to avoid the down slash of a sword and springing to his feet to engage once more in endless combat.

She had never seen him fight. Oh, she'd seen him practice at the dojo for countless hours; she'd watched him spar more times than she could distinctly remember. But she'd never seen him fight like this, this life-or-death battle where there were no rules and no limits but one's own skill and endurance.

It was terrifying, and it was exhilarating. It was fascinating. Tsubame felt pride swell in her heart at Yahiko's prowess with the sakabatou. She'd married a samurai, a hero, and he'd stepped out from behind Kenshin to take his place as strongest swordsman in Japan, wielding his sword for justice and honor.

Pride was replaced by horrified fear as, in the time it took her to blink, there of the masked black-clad enemies had Yahiko up against the back of the carriage, trapped and fighting defensively to ward off their combined attacks. Yahiko let out a roar that shook the air, rallying the policement fighting desperately now against the fierce onslaught.

Kenji was gone completely from Tsubame's mind as she stepped forward to help Yahiko with no other thought except that she wasn't going to stand by and watch her husband, her Yahiko-kun, die.

And as she stepped out from the shadows of the bookstore's front awning, the flash of a familiar dark green gi caught her eye, almost directly to her right.

The world was moving in slow motion, all sound muted, as if hundreds of kilometers separated her from everything around her, and Tsubame felt herself moving as if in a dense fog. She was turning, moving automatically; her arms, of their own accord, lifted in perfect coordination over her head, her feet stepping on some unknown command to carry her body forward, and a strange sort of cry erupted in her throat.

She loved Yahiko more than she'd ever imagined she would love anyone. She'd been willing to risk her life to fight with him, and that had been her conscious decision.

This wasn't conscious. She didn't have a choice now. She had to protect Kenji, unconscious in the arms of the stranger now standing directly in front of her, and that was instinct.

Mother wolf instinct.

The bokken came down in a perfect arc and crashed heavily into the shoulder of the man carrying Kenji's body tucked under one arm as if he weighed nothing. There was a sharp crunching sound that was both sickening and strangely satisfying, jarringly loud through the haze of movement and silent sound that was the world in which Tsubame now moved. The man let out an anguished half-scream, half-moan, nowhere nearly as _real_ as the sound of breaking bone, and crashed to the ground as his knees buckled.

"_Tsubame_!"

Yahiko's cry was all the warning she had before something heavy glanced off the her skull and the world plunged into darkness.

_End Part One_

* * *

Written: 8.3.06

Author's Notes: The move that Yahiko does here, the kneecap-breaking one, is the same that Kaoru performs against Kamatari in the Kyoto Arc. Please do not think too hard about the physics of why the sakabatou doesn't snap when Yahiko employs the technique.

_Glossary:  
Gaijin: "foreigner"  
Umeboshi: pickled plum_


	13. A Journey Begins

**Genpuku**

Thank you to both Hitokiri Jinchuu and Murasaki ½ for you wonderful comments! Murasaki ½, your response to Chapter 12 was so thoughtful, and it's inspired me to keep forging ahead despite flagging motivation. I've got the attention span of a rabid flea…Whoa, hey, is that a butterfly over there?

**Chapter Thirteen:  
A Journey Begins**

_Begin Part Two_

XXXX

"Kuso. He took out four of us, single-handedly, before we had to pull back. And who'd have thought? His woman nearly got the brat back."

The speaker was the one woman of the group, and the undisputed leader of the boss' spies. Of the eleven of them stationed at the two spots along the path—six at the first, five at the second, backup location—four had been taken to the station with broken kneecaps, writhing in unspeakable pain, to be held for future questioning. With the one who'd been caught the first time around, their ranks were a sadly-reduced seven.

Maya looked around at the hard, fearsome faces of the men she'd fought with since she'd been a child—men who would turn her in without blinking an eye if it would win them their own freedom. She had no illusions. She'd do the same for them, and it was a mutually held knowledge that that was the way of their lives.

"The woman broke the little boss' collarbone, so now we owe her payback as much as we owe it to Yahiko. We've been watching them for how long now? And she's never so much as touched a sword or shown any sort of fighting spirit. She was running on instinct today—female instinct to protect the child." Maya sneered in the direction of Kenji's still-unconscious body, but the derision in her voice was for Tsubame. _Stupid woman…Nearly ruined all our plans._ "For the little boss, then. We can't let the brat get away."

Her men might turn on her without a twinge of remorse, but their loyalty to the boss' son—the little boss—was unquestioned.

Aki, her right hand man, had been leading the second group and hadn't been part of the day's action and hadn't known until they'd regrouped together here in their temporary campsite just outside the city what the losses had been. His hard eyes turned to where Kenji was sprawled on the ground. "What did the boss say about the change in plan? I wouldn't have thought he'd be the kind to hesitate paying a blood price for revenge. He wasn't upset we didn't succeed in killing Yahiko?"

Maya shrugged. The boss was a hard man to figure out. "I didn't talk to him directly. The little boss said the boss had visited him in the hospital before I dropped by to see how he was doing. He said the boss had told him he was confident Yahiko will come after us to bring back the precious Kenji." Her tone was mocking. "All we have to do is deliver the kid to the boss, and Yahiko will follow. What the boss plans to do after that is up to him."

That was the good thing about the good guys, Maya had been learned. They were so predictable. No matter what the cost, you could always count on them to do the right thing.

Maya roused herself from her thoughts, knowing the men were waiting for orders. _Men._ They were good fighters, strong and reliable as they came, but dumb as a pair of chopsticks. They couldn't do anything unless it came from her as in the form of a direct command. She could have laughed, but she mastered the urge and said instead, "No doubt the Tokyo police will try to look for us as soon as possible. We have a little leeway; we're dealing with Yahiko here, not Himura Kenshin—Battousai. The police will have to deal with the politics if they want to search for us outside their jurisdiction; Yahiko doesn't have the same power Battousai does, even in this peaceful Meiji Era. We can expect Yahiko to come first, on his own, before the police ever do."

"Alone?" Taro, lean and hard, with strange pale gold snake eyes and skin dark from the sun, snorted. "Pretty arrogant if he thinks he can take us all on his own—if he can track us and catch up with us at all."

Grunted assents echoed from around the loose circle formation they were lounged in. Jiro, idly sharpening his throwing daggers, added, "Maybe he's just desperate. Rumors have it that Battousai's woman has the temper of a dragon. She'd have his head if he lets her son be snatched out from under his nose while she's away."

Laughter greeted that. "She'll have _something_ of his, that's for sure." Maya let the humor that followed the statement fade a little before continuing more seriously, "We don't want to lose Yahiko—bringing him to the boss is still priority. He doesn't know the extent of our injuries, so if we leave signs that we're having difficulties traveling fast, he'll let his guard down a little. Nothing too suspicious or obvious; he's expecting we'll be hiding our trail, but we don't want to lose him. Taro, you and Jiro are in charge of making sure anyone who knows what he's looking for and is looking hard enough will have enough to keep him going in the right direction."

They saluted lazily, but Maya knew they'd obey despite the lassitude of their response. Sharp as shuriken, the pair of them, and as laidback as any Maya had ever seen.

"We camp here until the brat regains consciousness. We're not wasting our energy carrying him. Tetsuya, you and Go keep an eye out for Yahiko. Mori—" his real name was Moriyama Shinsuke, but nobody ever called him by his given name "—you're in charge of the brat. Let him know that if he's stupid enough to try something like run away or call for help, we're going straight back to Tokyo and we're killing his little brother and his baby sister while they're unprotected. Let me know when he comes around.

"Ryo, you and Kazuo are cooking. Aki, you're with me." With that, she stood and gestured for him to follow her apart from the rest of the gang. Aki was a heavyset man, thick with muscle and bald as a monk, but he moved with a surprising grace for a man built more along the lines of ape than man. He'd come to Tokyo with half the men only days before, for the final stages of the plan; before that he'd been keeping an eye on things on the home front in Maya's stead.

Maya slung a friendly arm across Aki's broad shoulders in an almost companionable gesture. Of all the men, he was by far the ugliest, but he was the one she could trust most. "Tell me of what progress you've made since we left for Tokyo. Is the little pest still fighting, or has he given up yet?"

As Aki brought her up to date, Maya had to stifle the tiny, insubordinate sigh that rose in her. They were beset on all sides by honorable do-gooders like Myoujin Yahiko and that irritant from the boss' country home base, as well as those who had changed with the times, those such as Himura Kenshin himself. The Meiji Era was a hard one to live in, with all the progress and honor and all that. It was enough to make her sick.

But Maya was a hired thug through-and-through, and her options came down to either give up, or fight.

Maya knew who and what she was. She'd come out ahead, or she'd go down fighting.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Yahiko sat on the three-legged stool beside the bed where Tsubame lay, motionless beneath the white sheets. He hadn't moved from her side since they'd arrived at the clinic, refusing treatment until Dr. Genzai had compromised—he'd see to Yahiko's wounds where he was, seated on the stool.

He'd changed out of the hospital yukata and changed back into his street clothes, dirty and tattered by the day's fighting as they were. Now, injuries numbed and bandaged, the discomfort a mild awareness on the edges of his consciousness, Yahiko sat and started at Tsubame's face, eerily still and pale against the starkness of the sheets. Both his hands covered hers on top of the blankets, and Yahiko lowered his head until he could rest his forehead on top of all three.

_She could have died._ The knowledge was no less terrifying now than it had been the first time he'd thought it, an hour ago. She'd stopped his heart when he'd heard her growl, a fierce and most probably unconscious sound borne of fury and instinct; when he'd seen her leap out, bokken raised, and slammed the wooden blade with perfect form onto the man's shoulder. In a blur, he'd seen Kenji—unconscious, undoubtedly—slip from the kidnapper's loosened grasp; seen the black-clad assailant closest to them whirl away from Yahiko to bear down on Tsubame with frightening speed. His warning shout had come too late, and the handle of the masked attacker's sword had connected solidly with Tsubame's skull.

He'd fought his way viciously to Tsubame's crumpled form, but by the time he'd gotten there, the attackers had grabbed Kenji and his kidnaper, who, while dressed less conspicuously in everyday gi and hakama, was obviously in league with them. Then, without pause, they'd disappeared. For the first time in his long career of working with the police, Yahiko had forgotten the job, all thoughts of anything but Tsubame banished from his mind, as he'd raced to her side.

There had been no blood—to Yahiko's deep and indescribably relief—but Tsubame now sported a large lump just above her left temple, as well as a number of other bruises and one oddly-placed cut on the inside of her upper left arm. It was the most serious of her wounds, and it wasn't even very troublesome itself.

But the fact that she'd been injured…that in itself was inexcusable.

It was definitely odd that the attacker hadn't killed Tsubame. Not that he wasn't grateful, not so immensely grateful for his incredible luck. But a man who'd been out to kill a high-ranking government official—or Yahiko himself—wouldn't normal balk at killing an innocent, especially one who, for all intents and purposes, was dressed like a man.

Well, Yahiko knew better than to question his good fortune. Even if he'd have preferred to be up against an enemy he could understand, he wasn't going to trade in Tsubame's life for anything. As it was, he could only sit and be thankful that this mysterious enemy had spared Tsubame's life for whatever unknown reason he had.

He brushed his thumb over the back of Tsubame's hand, then pressed a kiss to her knuckles, resting his forehead once more against their joined hands. Dr. Genzai had said she'd sleep a bit to recover, but there was little danger of permanent damage. A couple hours of gut-wrenching worry on his part, then she'd be fine—a lingering headache, but nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't cure, the doctor had assured him.

Neither of them, Yahiko knew, would be getting a good night's sleep for quite a while.

"You had to try to save Kenji, didn't you?" His voice was quiet; he spoke not in accusation, or even in resignation. He just had to speak up and out against the oppressive silence that sat on his shoulders like an iron cape. He'd have done the same thing in her position. The issue at hand was that he didn't like being in _her_ position. "Didn't I tell you, Tsubame? Leave the bad guys to me. Leave the heroics to me." Tears leapt to his eyes, to his throat to blind and choke him. "Dammit, Tsubame, I could have lost you today. I'm not ready to let you go. Never."

It was a whisper, tight and fierce, and he shook his head back and forth against the back of her hand. "Never."

"Good."

Her voice was faint, and Yahiko's head snapped up to find her eyes open and watching him, a tiny smile on her lips. Her fingers under his moved weakly, and Yahiko eased up his tight grip so that she could turn her hand palm up and thread her fingers through his for the certainty of touch. "Can I…have some water? My throat's dry."

He had to release her hand to fill a glass from the pitcher on the bedside table, and he gently wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders, supporting her as he lifted the glass to her lips. Her hands covered his, her touch light, and she only took a few sips before pushing it away. Yahiko set the cup down, then merely sat at the head of the bed beside her and settled her carefully against him. The other bed in the private room was empty, and because they were alone, Yahiko allowed himself to hold her close, one hand stroking tenderly over her hair.

"How do you feel?" He dipped his head to press his cheek to her right one, his voice barely above a whisper so the words wouldn't slice through her throbbing head. He'd suffered through enough head injuries to know the excruciating pain normal speaking voiced inflicted.

She rested her head against his gratefully. "I'm okay. My head hurts."

"I know. Don't poke at it." Yahiko caught her hand in his before she could probe at the bump on her head. It was only human nature to be curious about the cause of such pain, but touching it wouldn't help—that, too, Yahiko knew. "It'll only make it hurt worse. Yu saved my life, you know, when you attacked that man. They took off and ran, and they probably would have had me that time if you hadn't distracted them."

"I saw." Her voice was filled with remember fear. "I was going to try to help you, not that I knew how I was going to do that. Then I saw Kenji-kun, and…" Guilt had her voice wavering, had her pulling back to hide her face against his chest as shame tinged her cheeks pink. "And I stopped thinking about you, Yahiko-kun. I stopped thinking altogether."

For a moment, Yahiko was confused. He couldn't understand why she was so embarrassed. Because she was, obviously deeply embarrassed by her confession and by her earlier actions. Confusion gave way to understanding, and understanding to sorrow, a slow, deep ache as he sought the words he knew he didn't have to comfort her. _Oh, Tsubame._ Yahiko wanted to touch her, to hold her, but kept his hands to himself. _Why do you feel you have to apologize for thinking of another's life before mine? Do you think I'd be upset that you did the same thing I would have, if I were in your place?_

If anyone should be grateful, it was him, because he'd put her in the same position he so often stood. And the roles were reversed, because for the first time he found himself in hers.

"Kenji's lucky, to have you think of him, to have you be willing to fight for him and to put him before everything else—including your own safety." Yahiko waited for Tsubame to look up at him before he repeated solemnly, "Kenji's lucky.

"And so am I."

A watery smile touched Tsubame's face, and she sighed tiredly even as her eyes lit with shy pleasure. She rested her head briefly on Yahiko's shoulder in the ensuing silence before speaking. "You should be off looking for Kenji-kun, not sitting around with me." Not that she didn't enjoy the momentary respite with him, the peace and tranquility of having him hold her. Now she understood firsthand, a little, why Yahiko always held her after he fought. The adrenaline crash left her off-balance, and all she wanted was to be held, to know she was safe—and so was he.

But there were matters more pressing than her gratitude at being alive and in Yahiko's arms.

There was Kenji.

"Yeah. I should." Responsibility was a heavy and familiar burden that surfaced anew in Yahiko's mind. Kenji might have been anxious to become an adult, but there were times when Yahiko wouldn't have minded being a kid again himself. He sighed and let himself indulge in one more minute of blissful comfort before shifting, easing Tsubame down against the pillows and sliding off the bed. "I will. I'm going."

"Wait." Tsubame blinked, blushing at her own thoughtlessness. "I didn't even think, Yahiko-kun. How are _you_? Are you hurt?"

His grin flashed. "Nothing I can't handle." She eyed him, not quite convinced by the flippant tone of his voice, and Yahiko repeated, more seriously, "I'm all right, really. Dr. Genzai patched me up—mostly just bruises and scrapes. I have a couple cuts, but those should heal nicely." The doctor had told him they'd heal nicely _if_ he had a couple days bed rest and _if_ he didn't do anything strenuous for up to a week and _if_ he changed the bandages and poultices regularly…but Tsubame didn't need to be bothered with such minor details.

"It won't keep me from finding Kenji and bringing him back."

Tsubame nodded, looking up at him with the blankets tucked up over her shoulders. Her soft eyes were solemn. "I'll take care of things here at home. Kenshin-san and Kaoru-san will be home in a few days, so don't worry about us." Yahiko wished he could be back before they returned; he didn't want to worry either, or to instigate Kaoru's wrath, but he knew the chances of that were slim to none.

Tsubame continued, "Tae-san and Chief Uramura-san are here if I need any help." Yahiko hesitated still, and Tsubame smiled, striving to allay his fears despite the uncertainty within her own heart. "No unnecessary risks, I promise. I'll take the next few days off work to watch the children, and I'll take care of my injuries. I'll watch over the dojo and see if Maekawa-sensei can come lead practice while both you and Kaoru-san are gone. I'll keep an eye on Nobu-kun and Hina-chan, so don't worry.

"And when you and Kenji-kun come back, I'll make your favorite, ohagi."

That teased an answering smile onto his face, and Yahiko bent over to kiss her goodbye, his mouth warm and lingering. "Be safe. I'll bring Kenji back, I promise."

"You, too. Be careful, Yahiko-kun." He nodded, then strode to the door, forcing himself not to look back as he slid the door shut behind him. Her last words were nearly inaudible, but each one struck straight to the core. "You come back safe, too, Yahiko-kun. Promise me."

The sentiment, and the meaning, of those words locked his throat shut, and Yahiko had to lean back against the door, eyes closed, for one minute to gather himself before he strode down the hallway.

Tsubame had been willing to throw her life away to save Kenji, but she wanted him to come back alive. She'd been willing to sacrifice herself, but she didn't want him to do the same.

But if it came down to his life or Kenji's…which would she have him choose?

It was a question best not asked nor answered, for everyone's sake involved, and as Yahiko stepped out of the clinic to begin the journey to bring Kenji back, he smiled.

If it came down to him or Kenji, he knew what his choice would be.

And as he started down the street in pursuit of Kenji and his kidnappers, Yahiko answered Tsubame's whispered parting request.

_I promise._

XXXX

Written: 8.5.06

Author's Notes: I don't know if I like how I've portrayed the dual responsibilities pulling on Yahiko. I don't want to portray him as a bad husband, but…well, explaining it in the footnote would just destroy whatever I'm trying to show in the actual story. Please let me know if you think he seems _too_ conflicted (bipolar). Thanks!

I don't want to cast speculation on Yahiko's priorities, but he knows whose life he'd choose. Deep in our hearts, I think we know, too.

_Glossary:  
Ohagi: a Japanese dessert, with pounded sweet rice covered by sweet red bean paste. Megumi makes this in the anime  
Kuso: a swear word_


	14. Memories of Life

**Genpuku**

Enter Part Two…the Kenji chapters. Please, be honest, let me know what you think. I'm struggling more now as I try to keep things moving as well as exploring Kenji's character more.

**Chapter Fourteen:  
Memories of Life**

* * *

He was two and a half years old.

He'd never remembered much of his life when he was little; most of his memories began when he was at least five or six, and most of those were of playing with his dad and watching his mom teach kenjutsu class. In the funny way of human memory, the image of the first time he'd picked up a shinai himself—cut down to fit his small hands—was fuzzy and indistinct, but he had a crystal clear memory of, for example, one summer's afternoon, him at age six, helping Kenshin do the laundry and watching, fascinated, as Kenshin snapped excess water off the clean garment before hanging it up.

The water droplets had sparkled in the air, caught suspended in time, against the blue of the sky, the white of the clouds, the green of the leaves of the trees beyond the back wall of the dojo. The dirt beneath his sandaled feet was hard-packed and dry, and dust drifted through the air where he'd scuffed his feet. The bucket of soapy water where he rested his hands was cool and heavy, and the bubbles floated on the surface with translucent beauty.

And he'd thought, watching his father do the mundane household chores, _Daddy has to be a girl in disguise. Why else would he always cook and do the laundry?_

But in his earliest memory, and his clearest, he was two and a half.

* * *

Mommy was holding him. They were in the big room where Mommy played with sticks where lots of people come and shout and hit each other. When he grew up, he wanted to be just like Mommy. She was strong. Not like Daddy. Daddy was always doing chores, and Kenji knew Daddy was gone sometimes, too, and left him behind. Mommy never left him. Mommy was always there with him.

And Daddy didn't play with sticks. He wasn't strong like Mommy.

Mommy was holding him, and they were standing on the side of the big room. Daddy was standing with Yahiko-nii. Yahiko-nii came and played with Kenji a lot. And sometime he came and played sticks with Mommy, and they shouted and hit each other lots. Kenji liked Yahiko-nii, but he didn't understand what he was doing. It looked like Yahiko-nii was going to play sticks with Daddy, but Daddy didn't have a stick. His hands were empty. And Yahiko-nii looked like he was scared. Was Daddy scaring Yahiko-nii? Bad Daddy!

Daddy said the word that meant 'Mommy' but sounded like "kaorudono". Mommy moved Kenji to one arm and yelled the word she always said when she started playing sticks—"hajime".

Scary. Fast. Daddy's stick shone in the light. Where did it come from? Magic, magic stick. Magic shiny stick from nowhere.

Maybe Daddy was strong, too, with his magic stick.

Yahiko-nii kneeling in front of Daddy. There were talking noises, but Kenji didn't understand. At the time, he couldn't understand. He saw Daddy put the shiny stick away in its magic hiding place at his side, and it disappears. Black. Bye-bye, magic stick. Daddy held the hiding place out to Yahiko-nii.

Before Yahiko-nii takes the magic sword, one word sticks in Kenji's mind, inextricably bound to the memory of Yahiko's fifteenth birthday and his rite of passage into the world of manhood.

_Genpuku._

* * *

Caught in the half-world between waking and sleep, Kenji had no control over his drifting thoughts. Vaguely he was aware of a throbbing pain somewhere in his head, of a sharp discomfort in his shoulders and arms, as if his arms were trapped behind his back, but even as he struggled towards the awareness, he was slipping away, back into the clutches of memory and oblivion.

_Genpuku._ He'd been too young at the time to understand the ceremony for what it was, but in the years that had passed, what he'd come to know had melded with the memory from that day to create a powerful influence that lived within him. It fueled him, drove him, motivated him every day of his life. Everything Yahiko had done in his fifteen years had culminated in that single hit, in that one match, and with it—and the passing on of what Kenji at the time hadn't known was the sakabatou—had stepped out to fill Kenshin's shoes and, eventually, make his own footsteps in the world.

It was because of that day that Kenji felt such a profound bond with Yahiko. He'd been there that day; he'd been witness to one of the greatest moments of Yahiko's life. He'd seen the strike that held in it the essence of Yahiko's fighting soul. Kenji also recognized that because of that day, his childhood antipathy towards his father had begun to diminish. Slowly, he'd come to understand that just because his daddy did the laundry and the cooking didn't mean he was weak.

And Daddy's cooking, Kenji had learned soon enough, was infinitely better than Mommy's. Strong as Daddy was, Daddy was still human, and there was only so much of Mommy's food that either of them could eat.

Kenji wasn't sure who he admired more, Yahiko or his dad. They were both amazing men, and he had the feeling their friend Sagara Sanosuke was just as incredible. It was one of the reasons he'd always tried so hard to live up to the legend, the reputation and the honor they'd left behind for him.

And here he was, kidnapped. Disgust infused his thoughts. Some warrior he was, letting himself be caught like that. He'd barely even seen the attack coming; he'd dodged, bringing his bokken up in automatic defense, but he'd been too late to stop the assault. The thick wooden club had collided with the side of his head, and pain had exploded with a shower of sparks and fireworks and blackness, and then there had been nothing.

_Chikusho._ The curse was fierce, and filled with contempt—and hurt. Some Himura _he_ was. What would his dad think when he came home and found out? The disappointment Kenji was sure would be reflected in those sad, sad violet eyes would be worse than his mother's anger or any punishment they would give for disobeying Yahiko. Kenji could live with anything but that look in his father's eyes that told him he'd let him down.

And Yahiko. Yahiko. Kenji cringed just imagining what his surrogate older brother was thinking, what he was feeling. What would Yahiko say? What would Kenji say to Yahiko? His heart lurched, then sank, as he realized that he'd pretty much just destroyed a lifetime of friendship and trust between them. Oh, he'd rebelled in the past, argued, fought, sulked, done his share of chores and time-outs in penance for bad behavior and rudeness. But he'd disobeyed a direct order, one he was old enough to know was made in his best interest. This time, not only was he in trouble, but he'd dragged Yahiko in with him.

Man. When Mom got home, she was going to be _pissed._

Yahiko. There was something important here, and Kenji's tired, aching brain kept circling back, struggling to pinpoint the elusive thought centered around _Yahiko_. He was trying to protect Yahiko, that's what got him into this in the first place, and therein lay the answer.

How could he protect Yahiko if he was going to be the only reason Yahiko was in danger?

Yahiko would come after him, of that Kenji was certain. Be there demons or certain death barring his path, Yahiko would come after him, and there was overwhelming guilt as well as comfort in the thought.

Yahiko would trade his life, his freedom, everything he'd lived for in exchange for Kenji, and he'd do so without pausing for a heartbeat. Kenji knew that, and he knew that there would be no resentment and no regret in Yahiko's heart when he made that decision. Kenji also knew he would never be able to go home and face Tsubame, his parents, Nobu, Hina, if it ever came down to that and Yahiko died so he could live.

Kenji wasn't so sure if he would—if he could—die for anyone. Even Yahiko. That made Yahiko a better man than he; it made Yahiko the kind of man Kenji yearned to be, the kind of man that Kenshin was. It made Yahiko a man, while he, Kenji, was not.

And because he was still a child, Kenji sent a silent prayer that he would never have to find out if he, like Yahiko, could die for someone he loved.

With that in his mind, Kenji forced his eyes open to assess his situation.

For a moment he thought he was still dreaming, lost somewhere in an unknown fantasy world, as he stared blearily at the unfamiliar surroundings and strange figures around him. But the pain in his temple was very real, and it anchored Kenji amid the disorienting strangeness around him. He blinked, trying to bring the world into better focus, and forced himself to lie still. There were three men lounging around a rough clearing between two large pine trees, and they had yet to notice he was awake. For now, that gave Kenji a slight advantage, one he hoped to use to the fullest of its potential.

The men were clad in all black, and they sat in silence, not a word exchanged between them. There was an air of danger around them that frightened Kenji on an instinctive level; it wasn't a good sense of danger, like the kind Kenji felt when he faced Yahiko for a practice match or—even better—when he watched Kenji and his mom spar. It was a danger that indicated that these were men who fought rough, and fought dirty.

What other kind of men kidnapped someone's son to bargain away his life?

Kenji didn't know where he was—certainly not in Tokyo, but he couldn't figure out where their little camp was in relation to the city, either. He couldn't even determine the time of day for the dense covering of trees around him; since there were forests in all directions from the city, some large, some small, it was impossible for him to know which way they were headed.

Before he could try to learn any more about his situation, one of the men glanced his way and noticed he was awake. The grin he sent Kenji was anything but friendly.

"So, our little friend is finally awake." The other two men looked up, eyes lighting with maniacal delight, but they—to Kenji's eternal relief—didn't make a move to come closer to him. The man who had spoken sat the closest to Kenji, and he offered Kenji a broad, thoroughly insincere smile. "Good morning, sleeping beauty. Welcome to our humble abode."

The other men snickered, and Kenji shot them both a quick glare, using the moment to try to measure them up. They were what he would have expected assassin-kidnapper types would be, hard and muscled , but the one on the left had a face that was almost…decent. It was a surprise to him, and Kenji could have kicked himself. What else did he expect? It wasn't as if evil contorted a person's features so that their immorality all but oozed out their pores.

But the man closest to him, the one who had spoken, looked much more the part of the assassin 'bad guy' type. It wasn't just his face, hard and dangerous and dark, or the glint of metal that he was polishing in his hands. It was, in large part, due to the long scar at the end of his left eyebrow, thicker at the top and tapering down to a point at the outer corner of his eye. He spoke with an accent, but it was too faint for Kenji to pinpoint where he was from.

"You've given us quite a bit of trouble," the man—Triangle Scar—continued conversationally as he tested the edge of his knife on his thumb, grinning fiercely when it sliced easily through skin. "I hope all the trouble will be worth it, or else we might just have to take it all out on you."

Kenji narrowed his eyes but guarded his words before he spoke. "I'm of no use to you if I'm dead." While the men laughed at that—he knew they thought he was absurd to speak so challengingly when he was rendered so obviously helpless—Kenji quietly tested the strength of the ropes that bound his wrists together at his back. He was tied up, hand and foot, and he was tied up securely.

The amusement died down, and Triangle Scar fixed Kenji with mocking reproach in his gaze. "My, listen to how he taunts us. Do you think we don't know you're scared of us?" He brought the blade dangerously close to Kenji's eye, and the younger boy went very, very still. Triangle Scar's voice was soft, deadly soft. "We don't have to kill you to make you pay."

Confusion flitted briefly through Kenji's mind, but he was smart enough to know not to voice his lack of understanding aloud. Pay for what? _He_ hadn't done anything to these kidnappers, certainly. That they might be after Yahiko was plausible; Yahiko had assisted the police on any number of jobs that had ended with the incarceration of countless men whose associates wouldn't think twice of hiring an assassin to kill him. His father, too, had quite a history of working with the police to stop the very type of unsavory character Kenji now found himself keeping company with.

But Kenji himself? He hadn't caused trouble for anyone.

Instead, Kenji licked his tongue over dry lips and hoped he conveyed nothing but nervousness, fear at the prospect of death. "I don't want to give you any reason to kill me."

Triangle Scar smiled suddenly, and he was in that instant more terrifying than anything Kenji had ever seen before in his life. "That's right. We wouldn't kill you, though, even if you were to do something rash…something like try to run away." His eyes cut to Kenji's, and Kenji knew that his half-formed plan to escape—somehow—had been preempted. "Because if you did, we wouldn't go after you. We'd head straight back to Tokyo and exact punishment from your little brother and sister."

Instinctive, protective fury flashed across Kenji's face, and he struggled in vain to sit up. "Don't you _dare_, you filthy bastards. You keep your hands off my family!" And rage layered over rage, and he would have leapt for Triangle Scar's throat if he weren't tied up so neatly. "What have you done to them? If you've so much as touched either one of them, I'll _kill_ you!"

Triangle Scar's voice was mocking, and he sat safely out of harm's way. "My, my, what a temper you have, Ken-chan. Better keep it on a tight leash while you're in my company, or I might just take exception to your name-calling. What would you say if I was to introduce your sister to the world of womanhood before I cut open her throat? You could watch, of course. How old is she, anyway? Six? Maybe seven?"

Rage, hot and impotent, clawed at Kenji's throat even as tears burned in his eyes. "You _bastard_." It was all but a sob as he crumpled to the ground, defeated, and rested his forehead against the dirt to fight the urge to throw himself at the man and seal his siblings' fate. "You son of a bitch."

Seated comfortably in the roots of a tree, one of the other men—the one with a normal face—blanched. "Hey, Mori, that's taking it too far, don't you think?"

Rolling his eyes, Triangle Scar—Mori—growled easily, "Shut up, Go." Go looked like he wanted to protest more, but a glare from Mori had him shutting up as directed.

Kenji was grateful for the momentary silence. His head was pounding from his futile exertions, and his failed attempts to sit up, combined with Triangle Scar's nasty comments, had his already queasy stomach rolling dangerously. He closed his eyes to combat the rising nausea, and tried to tamp down on his anger. _They didn't have Nobu and Hina._ He could take some measure of comfort in that, at least. They didn't have them, so they were safe—for now. Kenji had no delusions; these mysterious black men weren't below using him to punish someone else—Yahiko maybe, or Kenshin—and they weren't below using his siblings to punish_ him_.

But they didn't have Nobu or Hina. Kenji knew they'd be safe, even when Yahiko left to come track him down. Chief Uramura would see to it, and Tsubame was a samurai's wife, after all. She'd protect them. And then when his parents came home, Kenshin and Kaoru would be there to take care of his family…

But for as long as it would take, with every bit of his strength, with the last breath he took, Kenji would at least protect his siblings.

* * *

Written: 8.18.06

Edited: 9.15.06

Author's Notes: Kenji wasn't my favorite character, due to his dislike of Kenshin and his less-than-flattering portrayal in the OVA. However, I've decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. All children go through a stage where they like Mommy better than Daddy, and then vice versa. I'm taking artistic license to ascribe Kenji's aversion to his father at the end of book 28 to mere childishness, not to any underlying hostility.

_Glossary:_

_Chikusho: a swear word; "damn"_


	15. Faking the Facade

**Genpuku**

**Chapter Fifteen:  
Forcing the Facade**

* * *

Masakichi was fuming. Everything had been going perfectly, and then, without warning, all his plans were ruined. He should have been wary that things were progressing too smoothly, but even if he had been on the lookout for problems, nothing he could have done would have prevented the disaster that had occurred. Not only was Yahiko still alive, but he wasn't even seriously injured. Kenji had been taken hostage by the boss's henchmen, taking away what bargaining leverage he might have afforded Masakichi. And Takashi was gone.

He wasn't a kid anymore, though. Masakichi took a calming breath and turned the etched glass decanter in his fingers, watching the light from the window refract through the crystal. Takashi was often gone, handling other affairs, and Masakichi was more than capable of dealing on his own. Takashi had some sort of legitimate business, he remembered, and was often away to take care of matters. When Masakichi had returned to his headquarters, fuming after hearing the report of the bungled assassination, he'd found a note from Takashi saying he'd been called out of town on an unavoidable business deal and didn't know how long he'd be gone.

With the attempted assassination plot foiled, the spies that had been on loan to him were gone as well. Masakichi knew they'd be long gone, headed back to the boss with Kenji in tow. It would also be a useless effort to free those who had been captured from jail in a bid to buy their loyalty. It would most likely earn him a poison-tipped knife in the back than their allegiance. They were the boss's men, and no one else's.

This is why Masakichi knew he was small-time. But he had his dreams, and he could all but taste the completion of his years-long wait. Dreams didn't just magically fulfill themselves. His temporary alliance with the boss was over, even though the initial terms hadn't been fulfilled. Masakichi had known that Yahiko was the target all along, though he also knew the boss was after bigger fish than Yahiko.

For the boss, Yahiko was just a stepping stone.

For Masakichi, Yahiko was everything. Once he had Yahiko, his dreams truly would be complete.

The government official had never been more than a convenient excuse to catch Yahiko out in the open. If only Masakichi had anticipated the boss's ulterior motives of capturing Kenji. Now his plans were spoiled, and he had to try to recapture the advantage while scrambling just one step behind.

Of course, Yahiko would doubtless nowhere in Tokyo now. He'd be hard on the trail of the boss's spies, tracking Kenji down. Whatever bargaining power Kenji had for the boss, he'd have to be alive, and Yahiko knew that as surely as Masakichi did.

A slow smile crossed his face. Of course, with Yahiko gone, that left the other Himura children—what were their names, Nobuyuki and Hina or something—defenseless. And his pretty little wife.

Aah, that would make for sweet, sweet revenge. Masakichi raised his glass in a silent toast, admiring the play of light in the alcohol. It had all started with that little girl, Tsubame. It would be only fitting if it would end with her. Because of her.

And he did have one card still up his sleeve. He had never told the boss that Kenshin wasn't in town. Perhaps that was the boss's real aim, Masakichi thought, sipping his drink. Perhaps Yahiko was bait for Himura Kenshin. Now, Kenji would be that bait, and only Masakichi and Takashi knew that Kenshin wasn't even in town to bite.

Yes, Masakichi was only small-time for now, but he had dreams of making it big. He imagined the look on the boss's face when he realized he'd been duped, and that it wasn't Himura Kenshin hot on his tail, but the scruffy Myoujin Yahiko come to reclaim the Himura brat. And in the meantime, Masakichi would make his move on Yahiko's little wife. Masakichi thought Yahiko might just be able to get Kenji out of the mess alive, and when he came back to Tokyo…

Yahiko would suffer. He'd know that while he was off trying to protect someone else's child, his own wife had fallen prey to the very enemy he had once fought so valiantly to protect her from. Better than trumping the boss was seeing Yahiko suffer. Imagining it, Masakichi drank his wine and laughed and laughed.

* * *

"Neechan…you can't lead class."

For the second time in as many days, Nobu helped instruct Tsubame on tying a hakama, but he voiced his skeptical opinion nonetheless. Tsubame had on one of Yahiko's practice gi, the garment too large for her slender frame, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. As she had the day before, she wore Kenji's spare hakama and was currently smoothing the final ties in place.

Tsubame looked over at him, humor and stubbornness in her gaze. Nobu had been politely avoiding her eyes while she dressed, but now he met her look squarely. "Even if Dr. Genzai said your head's okay, you have to be careful. You could overstrain yourself, and then what would we do? And besides." He grimaced, embarrassed, but pushed on doggedly. "No offense, Neechan, but I don't know if, you know, you should be leading practice."

"I won't humiliate the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu name," Tsubame promised as she tugged on the gi to straighten it. "It's all right, Nobu-kun. I won't be doing much, but I have learned the basics from Yahiko-kun. And besides, you'll be there to help me."

Nobu scrunched up his face in a mix of disapproval and modesty. "Me? No." It was weird enough for Tsubame to lead class. She was only doing her best, so he couldn't find fault with that. But he wasn't going to try to upset the normal order of the dojo by overstepping his bounds. It wasn't Tsubame's fault Maekawa-sensei was ill and couldn't take care of their classes for them. And, for safety's sake, they thought that keeping up the semblance of normalcy would be best. If it foiled any attempts to further disrupt their lives, their police guard—a trio of stone-faced and burly men—had agreed that following the regular routine would be best.

"I'll watch Hina." Nobu glanced at his sister, playing quietly on the folded futon in the corner of the room. She'd been depressed and distant since they had arrived at the infirmary with Chief Uramura to visit Tsubame. Then they'd learned that Kenji was missing and Yahiko had gone off after him. Nobud wasn't surprised. He hadn't expected Yahiko to sit around and wait knowing that Kenji had been kidnapped, but Nobu experienced an uncomfortable sense of betrayal somewhere deep in his heart.

It took a certain kind of man to leave your own wife in the clinic—whether or not her injuries were serious—to hare off after unknown bad guys.

Nobu wasn't sure if he wanted to be that sort of man.

Hina was probably just as upset about Yahiko leaving without a good-bye as she was about the situation. She was too young to really grasp the gravity of Kenji's kidnapping, and Nobu and Tsubame had played down the dangers he'd face in the hands of the enemy. They could shelter her from at least that much.

If it was hard for him and Hina, though, Nobu knew it had to be hardest on Tsubame, but she didn't show it—not to them, at least. Nobu respected Tsubame for her quiet, oftentimes completely hidden, strength. The one person she would have been honest with was Yahiko, and he wasn't there. Nobu hoped his parents came home soon, because his dad and mom could make things better. Just by being there, they'd make things better.

The scrape of the shoji door sliding shut brought Nobu's attention back to the present. Cheerful voices came from the yard, and Nobu realized Tsubame had just left to greet the entering students and inform the most senior, Juichi, that he would be responsible for leading practice. Nobu peeked out the door, saw the students wave respectfully to Tsubame. Watching her, he had to laugh.

She still moved like a girl.

Nobu shut the door, then sat down beside Hina. For a moment he was silent, respectful of her space but close enough to tell her without words that he was there for her. She didn't move to speak or invite him to play, her hands clasped around the body of her favorite stuffed bunny that had slept with her since she was a baby. It had once been white but had faded to a well-loved gray, and for as long as Nobu could remember it had sported the yellow-patterned dress Kaoru had sewn for it.

"What's Baby Bunny going to do tonight?" Nobu finally spoke, keeping his eyes on the bunny instead of looking at Hina directly.

There was a long pause. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Nobu's eyebrows lifted. "That sounds pretty boring to me. You don't think he'd rather visit with Mr. Bites?" Nobu's stuffed shark was one of Bunny's closest friends. Wicked mischief sparkled in Nobu's dark eyes, and he lifted his right hand, fingers crooked menacingly. "Or…how about the Tickle Machine?"

That teased out a small smile, but not the usual shriek of laughter. Nobu let his hand smooth over Hina's hair in a gesture meant to comfort. "I'm sad Yahiko-nii didn't say good-bye, Chibi, but he has to hurry to catch up to Kenji and bring him back safe. He will be back—they'll both be back. Don't worry."

Hina's eyes were wide as she looked at him, her gaze filled with innocent trust. And her words pierced his heart. "Do you promise?"

He kept his gaze steady on hers and wondered if Yahiko knew just how much rested on his shoulders. "I promise."

If Yahiko failed to return, if he failed to bring Kenji back safely, it wasn't just his life he was going to ruin. If Yahiko failed to return, then Nobu had broken his promise, and Hina would never trust either of them again.

* * *

Kenji didn't like Maya.

His dislike of her ran deeper than the obvious, that she was the leader of the gang that had tried to kill Yahiko, had kidnapped him, and had threatened to…to hurt his little sister. He couldn't even think the word "rape" without his gag reflex kicking in.

No, his dislike ran deeper, much deeper than any of that. It went beyond even just an instructive clash of basic personalities. Even if she'd been a normal person and he'd met her on the streets, he'd have avoided her. She acted mostly like a decent person, too, despite her profession.

He finally realized it was _because_ she acted mainly human that he had such a severe aversion to her.

Maya was obviously capable at what she did, which in Kenji's imagination included all sorts of heinous crimes, the least of which was kidnapping and assorting with unsavory types. But she defied all description. She wasn't a warm and nurturing woman, as females—stereotypically—so often were, but neither was she cold and hostile.

Yet she wasn't evil, either, the way Triangle Scar—Tetsuya—was, in reveling in another's pain. But she chose to live her life the way she did, doing what she did. Kenji had been raised under the mantra that it wasn't his place to judge another based on their life choices, but he really didn't think that sort of broad-minded equality applied here.

Maya acted human. She _was_ human, but she pretended she was something else.

It was a dangerous thing, to be in the possession of someone like her. Kenji knew that instinctively, and he knew that Yahiko would stop at nothing to come get him. Pride had no foothold in the rocky soil of terror, and Kenji was smart enough, and scared enough, to know he just had to survive long enough for Yahiko to catch up with them, and Yahiko would be able to handle it from there.

As if sensing his thoughts, Maya turned her head and glanced over her shoulder at Kenji. They were walking now, with Tetsuya keeping a close eye on Kenji. Maya was at the front of the column, beside what Kenji determined to be her second-in-command. Kenji's ankles were untied, but his wrists remained bound behind him. His head was pounding, but he gritted his teeth and dealt with the pain.

While Maya's eyes were on him, he stumbled, fighting to keep his balance. Maya lifted one eyebrow. She could have been commenting on the weather, for all the interest in her voice. "You know, for the son of a legend, you're pretty clumsy."

Kenji sneered. "Maybe that's why my dad doesn't talk about me much." Let her think he was a klutz. Let them all think he was a klutz. He'd tripped once or twice, but he was stumbling on purpose. It gave him a chance to work on the bonds on his wrists, and if he could slow them down even a pace or two, it would give Yahiko a better chance of catching up before they got where they were going.

Kenji didn't know where they were headed. But he knew that once they got there, things would only get worse.

Maya didn't blink an eye. "You've got a smart mouth, kid." He didn't know if it was an insult or a compliment. Before he could decide which was more disturbing, one of the three men who'd gone off earlier that morning came back from another direction. He bore an angry red mark on one cheek.

"Ho, Ryo, you get slapped?" Tetsuya greeted him jovially. "Looks like a woman."

Ryo spared him a dark look before turning to Maya to report. "We got her, but she put up a bit of a fight. Killed some villagers, but the remaining ones won't be coming after us anytime soon. They've got their hands full. We lit their huts on fire."

"Good." Maya's voice was disinterested, and Kenji felt a spurt of anger. How could she care so little about the horrible things she was doing? "Where is she?"

A crash was answer enough, and Maya stopped their forward progression as the other two men came into view, fighting to restrain the slender figure between them. She fought like a wild horse tethered for the first time, and Kenji stared as she managed to deal one guard a vicious kick in the side of the knee that almost took him out. He silently cheered her on.

Maya stepped forward, lifting a hidden blade to the woman's chin, forcing her head back. "Easy there." She might have been cautioning a child running too close to a rain puddle. The woman was tall, elegant, maybe a year or two younger than Kaoru. But even at first glance, Kenji could see she possessed the sort of mature calmness that Auntie Megumi had. A calmness his mother could never dream of claiming.

"Kill me, bitch." Her language made Kenji's jaw drop. It was at complete odds with her outward appearance, bedraggled by her capture but hinting at some sort of spiritual nobility, he supposed, for lack of better terminology. "What're you going to do, huh? Kill me now, or you can come back when you've found your balls."

To Kenji's surprise, Maya stepped back and snarled. "Get her in line with the little boy. They start getting too friendly, cut off her arm."

"I hope they keep your seat in hell extra warm for you." The woman spat the insult back, but she offered no resistance to the men who hauled her back and shackled her hands to Kenji's with enough line between for them to walk in single file line. "And when I find you there, it's not your arm I'll cut off."

Maya ignored the threat. "Move on!" she barked, slamming her dagger into its sheath.

Kenji lurched forward, avoiding Tatsuya's kick to get him going.

Things might have just gotten worse, but they certainly were interesting.

* * *

~5.23.10

Author's Notes: Sorry for the long hiatus! I just finished re-reading the Jinchuu Arc and thought I'd try to rework this. I found my original story notes, which really help orient me with the original direction I'd hoped to take this. Please let me know what you think. I'm a little worried that the 'bad guys' are confusing (names, etc.), so any feedback is much appreciated!


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